Promises Unspoken
by littlepatriot
Summary: Promises last until they are broken. They had always promised they would be there for him. They promised he would never be alone. They promised until they abandoned him to certain death. Now, years later, as civil war rages, his past comes back to haunt him. The Galactic Civil War didn't just divide the galaxy, it tore apart families. Rogue One AU. Art credit to PlainBen
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

The work was grueling and hard. He had never worked so hard or long in his eighteen-year life. Every day was potentially his last. Here he was, after two years in a living hell, chipping away in the hot, cramped confines of a precious ore mine. It was just him and a couple of others who survived the oppressive conditions.

He chipped away with his well-worn pick, the clink of metal hitting hard rock echoing through the narrow passage. There was a little light, the only glimmer coming from a plasma lamp at the end of the shaft. He had done this for eighteen hours every day for the past two years. Every day the guards would shoot innocent people for "slacking off." Their bodies were dragged out of the shaft and thrown into hastily dug shallow graves. This mine was an offshoot of a much larger complex that had started out initially with 35,000 laborers. As he chipped away on this dreary day, there were only 2,500 left—the 32,500 others were six feet under.

The Malux Cartel had come to his home planet of Odisar, overwhelmed the small military they had, and enslaved or killed most of the 3 million inhabitants.

The Cartel was an influential economic powerhouse in this region of space that had taken advantage of the turbulence caused by the Galactic Civil War for the past fifteen years. Now, in some areas it rivaled the size and influence of the infamous Hutt Cartel, which was made all the worse by a recent cooperative alliance between the two cartels.

The Empire and the Rebellion both viewed these cartels as threats, but they were also assets. Many gang members willingly provided crucial information for the right price— a price both the Empire and the Alliance to Restore the Republic handsomely paid.

The Cartel had come to Odisar demanding natural resources and credits, the Odisarian government promptly refused. The Cartel then attacked.

They fought valiantly, but their armed forces were nearly wiped out. The remaining members of the government petitioned both the Empire and the Rebellion for assistance: supplies, arms, credits, anything that might help. The Empire sent emissaries down to the planet, bringing with them messages of support; however, the rumors swirled that the Imperial officials were really just on-world to conduct business with the Cartel. Additionally, the Empire used transports to ferry individuals deemed useful off-world to indoctrinate and assimilate them into either the military or government.

They couldn't fight back sufficiently, and the Cartel knew that. In only three months, the Cartel had gained control of the entire planet and killed an estimated 1.5 million people in genocidal massacres.

Now they did something far more insidious: they turned the population against each other.

The Cartel, working with the Empire, brainwashed the populace of the large cities into believing that their economic and personal hardship was not a result of the Cartel's invasion, but of the rural agrarian population. It was farmers who decided how much harvest to sell; it was farmers who led to food shortages; it was farmers who only produced the resources they need to survive, and now they were dying because of those rural farmers.

The city dwellers formed roving bands that, with the assistance of the Cartel members, rounded up and executed farmers and their families. Within a couple of months, whole swaths of the countryside became devoid of life.

As he picked away at the dark rock beneath him, he remembered the time they came for him and his family.

They lived in an old house situated on a large plot of land their family had farmed for more than five generations. They lived as good as a rural farmer could, and they always had a steady food supply, with the surplus being sold.

He father and mother were the light of his world. They were the two individuals he looked to most for guidance, comfort, and protection. His older brother was one of his only friends throughout his childhood, playing together, comforting each other, and loving each other.

Life was good.

But with the Cartel's invasion, their lives were endangered. And so, with a gang of killers comprised of their fellow countrymen nearing their homestead, they fled.

They took flight towards the nearest spaceport, where they hoped to find a ship to escape this nightmare.

But their potential killers took notice and were in hot pursuit.

Just as the family reached the spaceport and found a suitable ship, his world was shattered.

He remembered holding onto his older brother's hand as they sprinted towards the gray clad vessel. Then, in the most imperiled moment of his life, he tripped and fell, spraining his ankle in the process. His family turned around to see their youngest one on the ground, with their killers within view and running towards them.

Suddenly blaster rifles came to life and the red bolts whizzed around them.

He lay there on the ground with his hands covering his head, waiting for the strong arms of his mother or father to encircle him and carry him on board the ship.

Instead, he heard the ship's engines power up and looked up. He was shocked.

His mother, father and brother had boarded the ship, which bore the insignia of the Empire, and were preparing to leave. The last one onboard was his father, the man's dark brown hair matted with sweat, his eyes shining with tears. The message in them was clear: he wasn't going to be leaving the planet with his family.

He tried to rise but couldn't. The ship's ramp closed and the repulsors engaged and soon was airborne.

The gang quickly reached him and hauled him to his feet.

All the while he screamed at the shrinking ship, screaming for his family to come back, screaming for his family to not abandon him to die.

He snapped out of his thoughts.

He hadn't died that day. Instead, he was a dead soul trapped in a living body, living an existence fit for no living thing. In these two years of life—if one could call it that—he had pondered what to do.

He soon got his answer.

The Cartel's funds were slowly being depleted by the increasing ferocity of the Galactic Civil War, which left no sector or organization untouched. Despite shadow support from the Empire, the credits were simply not enough. With the crunch in funds, many members got tired of their lack of pay and simply abandoned their posts and left the planet. Soon, the oppressed population was taking advantage.

In a campaign of resistance, former slaves and prisoners organized themselves into makeshift armies and fought the remnants of the Cartel.

He and his fellow slaves had successfully overpowered and killed the dwindling number of guards at their camp, then set about raiding the other camps of the large mining complex. It was soon fully liberated.

This process of resistance lasted for the better part of a year and a half. During this time of bloodshed and battle, the formerly enslaved and imprisoned population began to regain its pre-invasion structure: armed forces were reestablished, governments formed, and leaders elected.

The Alliance had taken notice and was sending some aid to the fledgling planet: arms and monies.

By the time the Cartel had fled he had turned nineteen years old. He wondered if his family would return now that their planet was freed.

He waited and waited. They never came back.

He was truly abandoned.

With his planet retaken and freed he turned his attention to the larger conflict that had taken hold of the Galaxy.

He had no family to speak of and nothing to lose.

The Empire had come with messages of support but seemingly did nothing, except take some citizens, including his parents, off-world. The Alliance, however, had actively supported their resistance and eventual liberation. He wanted to ensure that nothing like this would ever happen again, and he knew which side he would fight for.

His family had left him behind, but he would be dammed if he let the galaxy suffer as he and his planet had.

 **The prologue is done. I know some details are lacking (the name of the individuals) but I intend to reveal more in subsequent chapters. Hope you all enjoy!**

 **-LittleP**


	2. New Lives

Chapter 1: New Lives

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, the sweat clung to his fingers and they came back with a moist sheen. He had been training for many hours and decided it was time to rest. Ever since he had gotten to this place, he had trained almost nonstop. That was nearly two years ago. He looked up at the wall opposite him and skirted his eyes over the large dark symbol of the Empire. The sleek and hard angles of the infamous shape were plastered all over the headquarters here on Imperial Center.

At 36 years old, Waylon Mandrik wasn't exactly young, but he had a drive. He knew his own limitations and worked to overcome them, and so far, he had with flying colors.

Nearly four years ago, he was a refugee, fleeing his doomed planet, along with his, now deceased, wife and eldest son. The Empire had rescued him and gave him a new lease on life. Now, two years later, he found himself rising through the ranks of the Imperial Security Bureau at a rapid pace. His work ethic, effectiveness, and mission success rate had gained him notoriety amongst his peers.

Now he sat on the bunk in his private, albeit small, quarters. A year ago he had been approached by an Imperial Agent by the name of Blackhole. The mysterious man had been impressed with his abilities and offered him a position as one of his bodyguards, a shadow stormtrooper. He took the position with glee, and over the next two years performed some of his most successful missions under the black armor and lifeless helmet lenses.

His constant thoughts of the past always snapped to his family. After their flight from Odisar, he remained in steady contact with his eldest son and wife, until his beloved spouse died after a prolonged battle with sickness. The doctor never said what her cause of death was, but Waylon knew the singular cause: grief over the loss of her youngest boy. That was a year ago, and he still had not fully recovered from the loss. He had no idea if his youngest was even still alive, and for two years he had blamed himself for his young one's failure to reach their ship. If only he had slowed down just a little bit, "Benny," as he liked to call his youngest son, might still be in their lives. His hand clenched into a fist, and he closed his eyes, trying to bid the gathering tears away from his vision.

No, they would never see their loved son again. He was sure of it.

A chime startled him out of his deep thoughts.

He slowly got up, ignoring the aches in his muscles and his heart.

He punched in a command on the keypad and the durasteel door slid open.

The man who greeted his sight was someone he'd never seen before. The man was not dressed in the white jacket worn by the ISB. This man wore a jet black uniform that seemed out of place.

"Yes?" Waylon asked in a terse tone. He wanted to take a shower and think. This man was impeding his ability to do that.

"Waylon Madrik?" The man asked.

"Yes, that's me." He nearly rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Come with me." The man said before quickly turning on his heel.

"Wait!" Waylon nearly shouted. "What is all this about? Who are you?"

The man looked at him and smiled, "I'm not important," then pointing a finger at Waylon, "but you are."

"Me? Who thinks I'm important?" He asked in a semi-shocked tone. He knew he was valued at the ISB, but he was never requested like this.

"Come with me and you will see." The unnamed individual said and began walking down the hall.

"The hell with it," Waylon said before stalking after his unknown guide.

They walked in silence for a few moments before they came upon two large doors. Waylon stopped in his tracks. It wasn't the large doors that made him stop; it was the figures that stood guard beside them. Their uniquely shaped helmets and specialized gear made them recognizable to anyone in the ISB or Imperial Intelligence.

Death troopers.

He nearly gasped in shock.

Death troopers were mostly always found guarding one single individual, Orson Krennic.

His shock quickly lessened with the deep breaths he took and he evaluated his surroundings. The two death troopers stood stock still beside the door, and the unnamed guide was staring at him. He quickly composed himself and the pair resumed their walk to the door. The death troopers paid them no heed as they doors slid open to reveal an opulent room.

This was the office of the director of the Imperial Security Bureau. However, standing behind the desk was not the ISB director, it was Orson Krennic. The man wore a stark white imperial uniform with a flowing white cape behind him. Behind the Director was a window that looked out onto the cityscape. The lights of the planet lit up the surrounding darkness, speeders sped by, and the occasional star twinkled in the night sky.

Krennic stared at him, and he stared back. Many silent seconds passed before Krennic's voice permeated the silent space.

"Leave us."

The unknown guide quickly bowed and took his leave, exiting through the doors they had just walked through. Once the two doors slid shut, it was only the two of them.

"Do you know who I am?" Krennic asked.

"Yes," Waylon replied. "Director Krennic, of the Advanced Weapons Research Division."

"Correct," Krennic replied with a stern face. "Do you wish to know why you are here?"

"Very much so, Director," Waylon replied.

" I'm in need of someone with your talents," Krennic said.

Waylon breathed deeply. It looked like this was another of those "one and done" missions. They use him for his talents on a single mission before letting him go. "What is my mission?"

"Misson? Oh no, I have a more long-term use for you, Waylon Madrik."

Waylon was surprised, to say the least, "What do you mean?"

Krennic walked out from behind the opulent and large desk, his white cape slowly trailing behind his form. He walked until he was nearly toe-to-toe with Waylon. "As you may have heard, a number of my specialized stormtroopers have become casualties as a result of the prolonged conflict with the Rebellion. Thus, I am in need of superb individuals to take up those vacant positions."

Waylon audibly gasped in shock.

Krennic smiled at his reaction.

"Yo…you want me to be…?" He couldn't even form a coherent sentence.

Krennic nodded. "Madrik, your skills are known to many individuals; however, I'm not simply offering you a position as a mere soldier amongst my personal troops. One of my commanding officers was recently killed in a rebel assault against an Imperial project I was overseeing. I am in need of someone to fill that vacancy."

"Me? You want me?" Waylon's eyes were full blown. He didn't know what to feel, happiness, glee, or excitement.

"You are the officer my men need, and that I need. Just think of the things we could accomplish; the lives we could save." Krennic's voice had grown deeper as the man had grown seemingly more passionate in his speech.

The lives we could save.

The sentence stuck in his mind. He had failed at saving the life of his youngest son. The Alliance to Restore the Republic had stood by as his planet was taken over by a genocidal cartel. And while the Empire had not intervened to put a stop to the atrocities, they had provided safe passage, credits and supplies to the survivors that rose up and resisted the atrocities. At least, that is what he had been told on his arrival to Imperial Center—formerly known as Coruscant.

His decision required no further thinking.

"I would be honored." He said with a tone of finality.

The Alliance had failed to help save their planet. They had failed to save his son. And for that, they would pay.

He would be saving lives, but it would be through the spilling of Rebel blood.

* * *

"Right face!" The commander shouted across the large bay. All at once, the entire platoon snapped to comply, the white armor moving in perfect unison.

Andre Madrik was living his dream. He had always wanted to be a soldier.

He and his platoon had been marching around for hours, drilling in preparation for their next off-world assignment.

He had joined the Stormtrooper Corps soon after arriving on Imperial Center, which was around 6 months after he and his family escaped their conquered planet. He fell in love with the experience. He quickly found that training, blaster firing exercise and close quarters combat, came naturally to him. Soon he found himself promoted to Sergeant.

Now, nearly 14 months later, and three tours of combat under his belt, he was an Officer Candidate. His armor appeared no different from that of the other stormtroopers, only the lieutenants and captains were given shoulder pauldrons, but his inner- helmet contained a unique identification scanner that indicated his rank and seniority in the platoon.

His experiences on Odisar still haunted him but joining the Stormtrooper Corps eased much of that pain. He would never get his brother back and he wanted retribution.

The Alliance to Restore the Republic would pay for standing idly by as his planet, his people, his brother, met their end by the hands of a genocidal conqueror.


	3. A New Job

Chapter 3: A New Job

Upon joining the Alliance, Ben was pressed into immediate service with little training. The Empire's expansionist ambitions were increasing, and many worlds were coming under their control. As a result, the Alliance to Restore the Republic was giving only the minimum amount of training necessary to raw recruits, instructing them on the basics of their duties. Ben's training lasted less than a standard week before he was shipped out to a planet whose name he neither had heard of or remembered.

As the frigate they were on came out of hyperspace, Ben smiled.

Calling this terrestrial body a "planet" was much too generous.

As he stared out the medium-sized viewport, he began to see flashes of red and blue light contrasted against the darkness of space. As the ship drew ever closer, he made out the faint silhouettes of battlecruisers and destroyers firing their guns: a space battle.

"All troops report to bay number 5." A static-filled voice boomed over the ships comm system.

Ben took one last glance at the scene unfolding before him before he made his way down to the designated area.

Upon entering he found the large, cavernous space bustling with activity. X-Wing fighters were being readied by mechanics, orange-suited fighter pilots ran around on the polished black flooring, alarms sounded, and officers shouted orders. Ben moved towards a large queue of soldiers who were being lined up, ordered, and put on landing craft.

It appeared that this battle was not only going to be fought in the vacuum of space but on the planet below. Ben mentally groaned. While he knew what he was getting into when he signed up, he was not looking forward to seeing combat once again. He had already seen so much violence and death on Odisar.

After he was ordered into a line, he awaited his group's opportunity to board the latest transport.

"Group 35, you're up!" A mustached man in a tan uniform shouted over the cacophony of noise.

Ben hesitated for a moment, cleared his thoughts, and took a deep breath before stepping onto the small, cramped ship.

As the repulsors and engines fired up and the ship left the hanger, Ben's worry grew exponentially. Fighters—both Rebel X and Y-Wings and Imperial TIE—buzzed around the planet's atmosphere. More than a few times their transport had near misses with blaster bolts or out-of-control ships. Ben witnessed a transport that was returning to a frigate being blown to pieces as a result of inadvertent friendly fire. He had always thought that if he were to die in battle, it was not going to be on a transport heading into combat.

They tore through the atmosphere, buffeted by high-level winds, and soon the terrain below became clear: forests, many kilometers of dense forest.

Even as they descended, Ben could still not make out much below. He could not tell where the fighting was or what direction the enemy was coming from.

 _This is going to be a crapshoot._ He thought as the ship landed with a thump and the doors opened. The darkness of the troop bay was suddenly awash in bright light; he and his fellow soldiers—many of them fresh recruits— said their final words and exchanged their final thoughts before they charged their blaster rifles and ran into the bright daylight beyond.

* * *

They were instantly met with a barrage of blaster fire at their front. Men and women were knocked down by the dozens. Ben ran into the fray, his trigger finger squeezing as fast as he possibly could. He tried to aim at specific targets, but in the heat of battle he simply fired into the underbrush when he saw a glimpse of white plastoid or movement in the trees.

Soon, the firing became too intense. In the dense growth, it seemed that the bolts came seemingly from everywhere: his front, back, and sides.

After witnessing more of his fellow Rebels fall in the dense brush—whether from enemy fire or that of their own friends—he decided to take cover.

He ran towards a fallen log where he thought he could find some protection.

As he ran he heard a voice scream out above the hellish noise.

"Get down!"

A guided rocket shrieked over the Rebel's heads, the noise loud and disorienting. It impacted a rock face behind them and exploded, showing them with hard shards of stone.

It was pure chaos.

He didn't know what was going on, the combination of the sounds and sights was causing major sensory overload. Another rocket impacted one of their troop transports near him, causing a huge explosion and throwing debris many meters into the sky.

The impact knocked him off of his feet.

He slowly returned to a standing position, his eyes scanning the environment around him, their movement rapid and confusing.

He was so caught up in getting his bearings that he didn't notice the white armored soldiers storming out of the trees in front of him, and he barely had time to dodge a red blaster bolt screaming towards his chest.

He ducked out of the way and finally took cover behind the fallen tree. Two of his squad mates took cover next to him.

"Kriff! What do we do!? There's so many of them!" The platoon sergeant shouted over the roar of battle.

He peered over the log and saw the white stormtroopers had likewise taken cover behind dips in the ground, stones, and trees. He had a moment to peer into one of the lifeless masks that belonged to one of the individuals shooting at him.

 _What if he is my father, my brother?_

He didn't know what had happened to his family after they had abandoned him on their forsaken home planet. He had long thought that perhaps they had settled on a peaceful world, like Naboo. Or perhaps they took their chances and joined one of the sides in this civil war. After all, he had a lot of time to think this point over.

He raised his blaster carbine and fired.

He knew there was a distant possibility that the individual under the helmet could share the same blood with him; however, he didn't really care. He had felt and still felt abandoned by those who he thought loved him, by those he thought he could trust the most. They had promised to keep him safe. They made such a promise when they brought him into this world. He needed them to protect him when he couldn't do so himself. Yet, they broke that unspoken promise when they left him to rot. Then they hadn't come to rescue him as he toiled away in those mines for two years, two years constantly shadowed by the possibility of death. It was hell. Yet they never came.

Never.

To Ben, that was the line. His family stopped being family when they broke their promises and left him to die. His mother and father were no longer his parents, his family, or people he loved. His love for them had transformed into loathing as he slaved away in the hot mines on Odisar. Even if they were still alive, he would not, could not, accept them back into his heart and soul after they so ungraciously destroyed his. They were dead to him, and if they weren't, they ought to be.

The bolt was sent through the foliage and hit the trooper he had looked at right in the chest. The impact threw the man off his feet and produced a visible scorch mark.

"Fire! For kriff's sake fire!" The platoon sergeant bellowed. The stormtroopers were growing ever closer, slowly advancing on their position.

His fellow troops began falling in increasing numbers. The young boy next to the sergeant fell dead with a blaster bolt put through his mouth.

He knew they couldn't hold this position for long. It was growing untenable. If they could not hold this position, the Rebellion could not retain control over this small, unnamed planet.

It would be a major blow, but in his experience so far with the Rebellion, losses seemed to be commonplace.

He squeezed his trigger ever faster. The muzzle of his blaster belching bolts in a blinding light.

No matter how many times he seemed to aim and fire the enemy kept on coming.

"Fall back! Save yourselves!" The sergeant screamed.

He didn't need to be told a second time.

He bolted towards their lines and never looked back. He had seen his fair share of death when he fought in the resistance against the genocidal cartel on his planet, yet the cartel didn't have guided rockets, battle tanks, or walkers.

He ran through the thick, green foliage. He would've stopped and stared in awe at the natural beauty around him, if he weren't running for his life. As he ran, blaster bolts impacted the ground and plants around him; huge piles of dirt were flung skyward as the large blasts from the mobile walkers impacted the soft soil.

Up ahead he saw the transports that had brought them here. Scanning over them he found some were damaged or outright destroyed. But some remained untouched but were rapidly filling up with fleeing Rebels.

He reached one of the last undamaged transports and hurried on board.

The rest of the platoon, or at least what remained, boarded along with him.

The repulsors activated and the transport slowly lifted off of the ground just as the enemy troopers reached the landing zone. The stormtroopers tried in vain to shoot down the transports with their blaster rifles. Soon the last of the Rebel transports had lifted into the sky.

The ship launched into the atmosphere, dodging debris and TIE fighters, and rendezvoused with the remaining Rebel cruisers that were battling Imperial star destroyers.

They barely managed to enter the hanger of one of the cruisers before it abruptly jumped to lightspeed.

As soon as the chaos had ended, the ramp lowered, and the platoon slowly exited the vehicle.

The soldiers were covered in dust, mud, blood, and tears. Ben realized that he needed to take a shower, something to get off the grime off of him.

He walked away from his platoon wordlessly, not giving any of them as much as a second glance.

He knew many of them were glaring at him as he walked away. He knew he wasn't liked or wanted by his fellow soldiers.

He didn't care. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to care. He joined the Alliance to Restore the Republic to fight against the injustice he saw on his planet.

That is why he fought.

He took his shower and entered the temporary barracks. With his thoughts on past family experiences fresh in his mind, it took him a long time to fall asleep that night.

* * *

He was shaking. It felt like a horrible nightmare, one that he hadn't experienced before.

He eyes snapped open.

"Mandrik! Wake up!" He heard a voice whispering.

"I'm up," he said groggily.

He stared into the face of his platoon sergeant.

"Who wants to see me?" He asked as he sat up and wiped his eyes of sleep.

"I dunno," the man replied. "Just get up and moving so I can go back to sleep."

The sergeant got out of his way and he slowly got to his feet. He stumbled when the sergeant pushed him towards the door. It appeared that the man was more eager to get to sleep than he thought.

The barrack door slid open to reveal two soldiers in uniforms he instantly recognized: Special Operations.

What do they want with me? He thought in confusion.

"Benjamin Mandrik?" One of the SpecOps soldiers asked.

"Yes," he replied with a slight air of confusion.

"Come with us," the man sternly ordered and began walking down the hallway.

The other SpecOps soldier remained standing behind him motionless, waiting for Benjamin to move.

Once he began to walk, the thoughts came pouring into his mind.

 _Where were they taking him?_

 _Was he in trouble?_

He was so panicked that he traveled along the halls and corridors in a haze. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly bumped into the SpecOps soldier in front of him; the man had halted in front of an inconspicuous door.

He pressed a code into the keypad, and a chime sounded. Suddenly, the durasteel door slid open. The soldier then motioned for Ben to step inside.

Benjamin did so and was met with a sparsely furnished room. There seemed to be only a single seat in the room and sitting in the seat was an individual he did not recognize.

"Benjamin Madrik?" The man asked him with an accent. He had sleek black hair and wore a tan Rebel tunic.

Ben thought he sort of resembled his father, as the man also had dark hair, although brown in color.

"Yes, that's me." He replied.

"My name is Cassian Andor, and I'm an officer with Rebel Intelligence." The man leaned towards Ben.

The air nearly left his lungs and he took a deep breath. Rebel Intelligence? What did they want with him?

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

Andor laughed, "No, you did no such thing. I'm not here to apprehend you."

"Then what are you here for?" Ben was growing suspicious.

"I'm here to recruit you."

Ben was beginning to feel weak in the legs. "For what?"

"We're putting together a new team, and I've been instructed to take you under my wing for a probationary period to see what you know and to teach you some valuable tools," Andor replied with a small smile.

"We? Who is this we? And who instructed you to train me?" Ben asked once more in suspicion.

"Mon Mothma."


	4. Dazed and Confused

Chapter 4: Dazed and Confused

The training was grueling, to say the least. While Ben was a soldier, before that a farmer, and he was used to exerting himself, training with Andor was taxing, not only on his body but his mind. There were many days where he would go to bed with not only sore muscles but a sore head as well.

Andor trained him in the usage of many different weapons, from blasters to shivs, to blunt objects and even handheld comms.

"If you can hold it, you can kill with it," Andor told him constantly.

In addition to the standard weapons training, Andor also tutored Ben in numerous combat styles. He further encouraged Ben to pick up martial arts and specialize in a specific discipline.

Ben chose the Zama-shiwo style to train in, and while Andor was no master at it, he brought in pre-programmed training droids that assist Ben.

The first time Ben saw the mechanical behemoths, he was shocked.

So this is what the Alliance spends its credits on? He thought jokingly.

Ben further modified Zama-shiwo in his own personal style, doing away with the sticks or handheld weapons the martial art was designed around. At first, his modifications turned his practices into hours of him simply flailing about like a ragdoll, but soon, as he practiced, his movements became ever more crisp, steady, focused, and lethal.

He was so caught up with his training that time seemed to fly by.

"How long have a been here?" Ben asked Andor one evening as they both sat in the small kitchen of their quarters.

"Too long," Andor replied with a smile as he drank his beverage.

Ben playfully threw his spoon at the man. "Where is here anyway?"

Andor's eyes bore into him for a moment before the Rebel agent replied. "It is best that you do not know."

"Why is that?" Ben challenged.

"Because I would have to kill you if you did."

Ben laughed, but his smile quickly grew into a frown as he realized Andor was all too serious.

"Fine, but at least give me some sort of hint." He practically begged the older man.

Andor sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing back his chair and standing up from the table. "We call it dark site for a reason." He quickly marched out of the kitchen and into his personal quarters.

Ben was left to ponder where he was in the galaxy, literally.

A week later, Ben was in a small training room at the unknown base when Andor suddenly walked in.

"You have a visitor," he told Ben, removing an item—which Ben quickly realized as a portable holoprojector—from his tan coat pocket.

"Where?" Ben asked as he eyed the object.

"Here," Cassian replied, activating the device. Suddenly the room was awash in blue light.

A small figure suddenly appeared at the center of the projector; She wore white robes and had a young face.

"Good day, Benjamin." The woman said, softy.

"Hello…..," Ben trailed off as he did not know her name.

"Mothma," the woman supplied.

Ben's eyes widened in surprise. He had heard much about Mon Mothma, the woman who was the de facto leader of the Rebellion. From his former squad mates to Andor, everyone seemingly had favorable opinions of her. She had led the Rebellion ever since its creation nearly two decades prior, and she had not stopped.

"Are you well, Benjamin?" Mothma asked, motherly concern in her voice.

It warmed Ben's heart, something he had long thought cold and hard. "Yes, ma'am. I am quite alright, thank you."

The smile that graced her face would have been enough to melt even the hardest durasteel.

"I have a proposition for you." Mon Mothma spoke slowly, eloquently.

"What proposition?" Ben asked.

"As you are aware, one of my most trust agents," her projected upper body swiveled to face Andor momentarily, "has been mentoring you in various subjects."

Ben nodded his head. "Why me?" He asked simply, the question having bounced around in his head since the day he came under Andor's tutelage.

"Because you have something special within you. You have a passion, a fire, that burns brightly in your soul. And while you do have substantial amounts of darker emotions, your drive to protect innocents, to do what is right and just, to support others, and your unwavering independence are admirable. Your terrible experiences on your home world could have driven you to follow a life of crime and murder, yet you choose to fight to liberate peoples and worlds from oppression. That is what makes you unique. That is why I want you."

Ben felt distinctly uncomfortable reliving his past experiences but said nothing of it." What do you want me for?"

Mothma stood quietly for a few seconds before replying. "I would like for you to put together a small team, no larger than a company, that will perform missions that no one else will."

"Like Special Operations?" Ben responded.

"Somewhat."

The answer stumped Ben.

Mothma continued in her speech. "This force will be organized under Alliance Intelligence, but, due to the nature of your missions, this squad will be independent of the Branch's bureaucracy; You will not answer to the head of Rebel Intelligence."

"What is the nature of these missions? Are we simply going to conduct operations against the Empire?"

Mothma paused momentarily. "You will be called upon to perform missions against the Empire, in keeping with the standard goals of Alliance Intelligence," her calm demeanor suddenly turned much more serious. "But, if the Alliance to Restore the Republic is going to be successful in not only defeating the Empire but restoring democracy, we will have to improve ourselves. As with any large organizations, the Rebellion has attracted many different people, including opportunists."

"What?" Now Ben was very confused, and, looking at Andor, he could tell his mentor was as well. "Conducting operations against the Alliance? Is that not counterproductive to reaching our goals?"

"Perhaps," Mothma said. "But, as I am sure you are aware, the Alliance to Restore the Republic has some problems within its ranks. As with any large trans-galactic organization, we are bound to attract those less than desirable into our ranks. As I am sure you have heard, there have been recent incidents involving our soldiers and officers that need to be remedied."

Remedied? What does that mean? Ben thought in confusion.

"You want me to find and capture these people?" He asked.

Mothma looked at him with steel in her gaze. "No, I want you to end them."

"You want me to kill these people?" Ben, along with many others in the Alliance, thought that Mon Mothma was the best individual the Alliance had to offer. He had no idea that she would think of such vicious goals. "If I were to go through with this, would I not be considered a traitor and executed?"

"There will always be calls of treason, regardless of the position one holds. I, myself, have been accused of treason. That is just the nature of our situation. If you are accused of treason, there will always be someone to support you."

"Who?"

"Your immediate superior," Mothma said.

Ben scrunched his eyes together. "I thought you said I would not be answering to the chief."

"You won't. You will be answering to me."

Ben's eyes widened in shock. Mothma? He would have a direct line to the very top echelon of the Rebellion.

"Do you accept?" Mothma pressed.

I guess I don't have much of a choice. "I acquiesce."

Mothma gave a small laugh. "I expected nothing less nor more! Have a good day, Lieutenant Madrik."

Her reaction brought a smile to his face, but then another bout of shock (one of many during this experience.)

Lieutenant? Did he just receive an on-the-spot promotion?

* * *

It had been a week since Ben had talked with Mon Mothma, and he hadn't heard anything from the woman since then.

He continued his duties with Andor as usual, the pair dealing with Imperial signals intercepted from Imperial Center. What they heard was confusing; the messages appeared to be coded. Through time consuming deciphering by the Signal Analysis Bureau of Alliance Intelligence, the messages were partially decoded. They revealed that the Imperials were working on a very large project, one that could have the potential of changing the galaxy forever.

They both had little idea what the big project was, but it couldn't be good news for the Alliance.

That is how they spent the next week, trying to figure out what the message meant.

It was then that Cassian told Ben some news that surprised him. It happened as they were both preparing to step into the quarters across the hall from each other.

"Benjamin, I have some important news," Andor said out of the blue as he was typing in the code for the door to his quarters.

"Yes," Benny said as he turned around, "what news do you have?"

Andor was being strangely pensive. "Our partnership will soon come to an end."

"What do you mean," Ben said in confusion; he expected their partnership to end sometime down the road, but they had only been together for a little more than two months, and Ben hadn't even learned all he needed to.

"I am being assigned to a very important mission: to find out what superweapon the Empire is building," Cassian said.

"What about me? What am I to do?" Ben was slightly panicking as he thought where he would end up.

" Mothma has other plans for you," Andor said with sadness coloring his voice.

"She has plans for me?" Ben replied sarcastically, "She hasn't even contacted me since our initial call. I doubt she has any further use for me."

"You underestimate yourself," Andor replied with a smile, "trust me." He then stepped through the door which slid shut behind him.

Ben was left staring at the closed door wondering what the future held for him. He shook his head then disappeared into his quarters.

Ben didn't know when Cassian would be leaving, but he knew it would be sometime before he and the man who had mentored him would have to part.

He was wrong.

* * *

He awoke the next morning to knocking on his door. His mind instantly flashed back to the time his former platoon sergeant shook him awake nearly three months ago.

He rose from the bed and groggily rubbed his eyes of sleep. He then stood and made his way over to the door.

The door slid open the reveal Cassian, the man already dressed in his military uniform.

"We have a new objective," Andor said instantly.

"What is it," Ben asked.

"We need to retrieve an asset on Alderaan."

"But isn't Alderaan supporting the Rebellion?" Ben asked in confusion.

Andor sighed," They are, however, the Empire is aware of such 'clandestine' support and have focused increased attention on the planet. The Emperor has even sent troops down to the planet in order to keep it in its place."

"This sounds like this will be hard," Ben said sarcastically.

"It will be, especially since the asset is being held in a temporary Imperial prison."

"Fun," was all Ben said.

* * *

 _A day later._

They arrived on Alderaan aboard an inconspicuous freighter, which carried goods and supplies, and were dressed in civilian garb.

Ben had taken to wearing an all black outfit—black vest, black pants, black boots, and a dark hat- something he inherited from his mother, and Andor wore the outfit of a freighter pilot: the clothes a mismatch of colors.

The Royal Government of Alderaan was still on control of their sector of space, despite the increased Imperial attention, and allowed them to pass through easily.

They landed in the capital city of Aldera. The towering white spires of the Royal Palace of House Organa stood out amongst the green landscape beyond the city. Surrounding the spires of the palace was the capital city: a maze of streets and shops that seemed to stretch on forever.

As they descended they also saw numerous contingents of white Imperial stormtroopers patrolling the streets below. The conforming white armor stood in stark contrast to the darkened buildings and colorful variety of clothing worn by the Alderaanian citizens.

They eased into a landing bay in the main spaceport. After landing, they set out on their mission.

"Where is this prison that our asset is being held at?" Ben asked Andor as they exited the spaceport and began trekking down the main thoroughfare.

"It's here in Aldera, not too far from our location," Andor replied.

Ben nodded wordlessly.

They soon found themselves walking the streets of Alderaan, Andor leading the way. Every street they walked contained numerous shops, and open air markets, with vendors having set up shop on street corners and busy intersections.

The planet was different from many other planets in the galaxy; the citizens preferring to walk the streets than to ride in speeders or transports. It took then nearly a half-hour before they saw their first air taxi flying to a predetermined destination.

They also passed many different small patrols of Imperial troops.

Soon they were nearing a building which had numerous guards stationed around it. The building two stories and was nothing special. It looked similar to many of the commercial buildings around it. Its dark colored stone mixed in with the dark stone of the building next to it. The windows on the lower level were tall and wide, which would've afforded a view of the goods on display in the window, but the windows were empty, the goods having been confiscated when the building was converted into a prison. The upper-level was even bleaker. The small windows that would've opened into private rooms were shuttered and boarded up.

"Is this it?" Ben whispered to Andor. The older gentleman silently nodded.

"How will we get the individual out?" Ben asked as the building looked pretty heavily guarded.

"With this," Cassian produced a small trigger device from his coat pocket and activated it.

The blast was loud but not deafening. Ben whipped around and saw a pillar of black smoke coming from the spaceport they were just at. "What the kriff?"

"Explosives in the freight," Andor replied with a smirk." And no, I detonated them at a time when no one was around."

"How do you know?" Ben replied with a whisper.

"My gut," the man replied.

Ben shook his head in exasperation at the man's answer.

The explosion had the desired effect. All attention was focused on the spaceport.. Stormtroopers were streaming towards the spaceport in every direction, yet two guards remained outside of the makeshift prison, their mission to guard the prisoners clearly outweighing any other circumstances.

There was only one option left: the guards had to be taken out.

Graciously, both Andor and Ben walked up to the front door of the prison, nearing the guarded entrance.

The stormtroopers spotted them quickly.

"Halt!" They said in unison, pointing their blasters at the newcomers. Ben acted fast, quickly grabbing his blaster pistol and firing.

The two guards did zap off some shots, but they were wildly inaccurate as they had been struck by the bolts from Ben's blaster. The two troopers quickly crumpled to the ground.

Ben and Cassian took immediate advantage and ran into the structure.

Upon entering they found the central control area—a dining table with monitoring equipment set up on it—a black uniformed officer and three stormtroopers. They had heard the commotion outside and fired upon the pair as soon as the two Rebels came into view.

A number of shots were close calls, but all either went over their heads or impacted the walls or furniture around them.

Without hesitation both Andor and Madrik withdrew their blasters and fired back.

It was over in less than five seconds, with all the Imperials lying motionless on the floor.

Not wasting any time, the pair set off trying to find their captured asset. They looked around on the bottom floor but found no prisoner cells. All that remained on the bottom floor was space used for the guards, interrogation rooms, and a rudimentary torture chamber.

They ran up the rickety and well worn staircase and were greeted with a sight that momentarily stunned them. The upstairs resembled an Imperial cell block rather than the upstairs of a commercial store. The walls dividing the rooms had been taken out, leaving the upstairs as one large open space. Within this space was packed dozens of small confinement cells; some cells were barely large enough for an individual to turn around in.

The cells were packed with prisoners, who, upon seeing Andor and Madrik, began to shout for their release. It was nearly overwhelming, and both Rebel Intelligence members had to navigate through the cacophony of voices and shouts as they searched for their asset.

They eventually came upon a cramped cell in the corner of the space. The man inside was older looking. His hair was matted with dry blood and his face was bruised. He didn't speak as Andor broke the lock on his cell and hauled him out.

They then rushed their way out of the building as quickly as possible. It was only when they had exited the building and were trekking down a small back ally that the man began to speak.

"Who are you," the old man croaked.

"Friends," Ben offered.

They soon found themselves back on the main street but barely had any time to breath. As soon as they began moving they were fired upon.

"Blast them!" A muffed, slightly electronic voice commanded.

The stormtroopers were behind them as they raced through narrow alleys and passageways to get back to their ship.

They eventually entered the spaceport through one of its many entrances, but they still had to fight their way to their ship.

Just as they were nearing their docking port, a contingent of around five stormtroopers blocked their path. Their blasters were raised and primed to fire.

In an instant, Ben produced a flash bang grenade and hurled it into the group; he and Andor closed their eyes and covered their ears.

The light and sound was extreme, to the point that it disoriented the troopers long enough to make their move. Ben charged into the ground and began engaging the disoriented troopers in close-quarters combat, punches and kicks being sent towards the troopers' helmets.

Within seconds, four of the five troopers were down, and Andor had rushed ahead with the asset.

Ben was left by himself and the remaining fifth trooper; the man struggling to get to his feet. The white-armored body shook as the trooper forced his stunned body to stand. Many times it appeared his trembling legs would give out underneath of him.

Ben raised his blaster at the man, the trooper's helmet whipping to face him.

Then to Ben's surprise, the man simply froze, as if in shock. The man's lifeless helmet staring holes into Ben's face.

Ben waivered then lowered his blaster, confused but curious at the trooper's inaction.

Just who was this soldier?

"Ben, hurry up!" Andor yelled from down the hall.

With a long glance at the still frozen stormtrooper, Ben raced past his foe and got aboard the ship.

Soon they were off the planet at back to their base.

* * *

They got back late that night, handed their asset over to the happy Alliance Intelligence agents that were waiting in the hanger and then departed to their quarters. Ben knew their time was coming to an end.

They said their goodnights before retiring to rest.

The next morning was their final day together as a team.

"I'm leaving, and I just wanted to say goodbye. It has been a pleasure working with you, Ben," the dark haired man said solemnly.

Ben's lips turned into a sudden frown. "But you only told me that we would be parting yesterday."

Andor smiled at Ben's naivety. "Kid, you have a lot to learn about Alliance Intelligence, namely, how fast turnarounds can be."

Ben only chuckled uncomfortably at the statement.

"Anyways, I came to say goodbye. I don't know if I will see you again soon, but I wanted to tell you that I have full confidence in you," Cassian stuck his hand out.

Ben looked at it for a second before moving to grasp the outstretched hand in a firm handshake. "It was a pleasure to work with you, Cassian. I wish you well."

"And I you, Ben," Andor said before he walked away and down the hall.

Ben sighed before walking back inside his quarters and shutting the door.

* * *

Less than an hour later there was another knock on his door.

Ben sighed once more, thinking that it was Andor, and got up to go see what the man wanted.

To his surprise, the individual standing across from him was not Andor.

The young woman wore the dark green uniform of Alliance Special Operations.

"Yes?" Ben asked.

"Benjamin Madrik?" The young woman questioned?

"That's me," he replied.

"Here," the young woman shoved a datapad in his direction.

"What is this?" He asked in suspicion as he took the device in his hand.

"I don't know, sir. I'm not cleared for this information." The young woman said in a hushed tone of voice.

"Thank you," Ben replied.

The woman gave a nod then left the doorway, which promptly slid shut.

Ben was left staring at the now closed door.

 _Why wouldn't the woman be able to view the information I was given?_ He thought pensively.

He peered down to look at the datapad in his hands.

The message was from Mothma.

 _Dear Benjamin,_

 _In this message, you will have outlined the parameters for your first mission. This mission is of utmost importance to the Alliance. We have received numerous reports from Fusai that some of the Rebel troops stationed there have been less than gracious to the locals: harassment, beatings, and even murders. You are to go there, investigate the nature of these crimes, find out those responsible, and then report back to me._

Ben put the datapad down with a sigh.

It looked like his new job began immediately.

* * *

Andre stood, dazed and confused, in the Imperial infirmary after getting his vitals checked. He had been sent to Alderaan to put a stop to the Rebel support on the planet.

They had accomplished just that.

But as he stood in the infirmary, his mind was elsewhere.

He had seen a ghost, someone who shouldn't have been alive.

His younger brother had put a blaster to his head and let him live.

There was no mistaking it, "Benny" –as he called his younger brother affectionately- was alive.


	5. Irrevocable Change

Chapter 5: A Whirlwind of Change

Andre had much time to contemplate what had happened. Immediately after the Rebels—including his "dead" brother—had left the surface, the landing bay was stormed by a contingent of troopers who had missed the brawl by mere seconds.

"What happened?" The black-coated officer demanded.

"Sir, we were attacked by a group of Rebels who successfully overpowered my squad, stole a ship, and escaped."

The man said no more, and instead, stormed off began giving furious orders into his handheld comm.

He assisted his wounded soldiers into medical pods that were brought to the scene and escorted them to the local military medical outpost.

It had taken some time for Andre to get over the shock of seeing his long-lost brother. Even after returning to duty, he still thought of his brother. The thoughts nearly consumed him; every day, every waking hour, his mind would wander off and ponder his younger brother's existence.

He didn't know how to react.

Shock? Yes, he was indeed shocked. Anger? Sadness? Guilt? Longing?

He was soon sent on further patrols of the planet, investigating for further Rebel agents or sympathizers. Soon, he and his platoon were tasked with hunting down Rebels throughout the Galaxy.

The numerous missions with his platoon members began to wear on him, which struck him as odd. This fatigue had never plagued him before during his nearly three years with the Empire. But for some reason, after seeing his very much alive Rebel brother, it did.

It was a relief that he and his platoon were up for their cyclical break from duty.

With no other obligations, he went back to Imperial Center.

* * *

Waylon felt like an entirely different person since accepting Krennic's offer. Since then, he had undergone intense physical and psychological training.

Much of the training was a rehash of what he had learned when training to become a Shadow Stormtrooper; however, some methods were unlike anything he'd ever experience.

I one instance he was trained, personally by Krennic, to resist giving up information under the harshest of circumstances.

This involved the use of a probe droid, syringes, and truth serum. Krennic had him restrained to a chair in a small holding cell, and injected truth serum into him again and again, seeing how much he talked.

It didn't just stop at one session, it continued until his body and mind were to the point where he could resist the strong urges to relinquish his secrets under the serum.

It took an excruciating amount of time and sessions to get to that stage. At that point, he barely even felt the needles piercing his flesh.

Krennic had seemingly done the impossible. He had trained the minds of his soldiers to resist a serum that nearly everyone—including many Force sensitive's—could not.

He was loyal to the Empire when Krennic brought him onboard, but Krennic saw to it that he was further indoctrinated in the ideologies of the Imperial government.

He spent hours listening to the white uniformed director, and as the hours, days, and weeks passed by, he grew ever more loyal; not only to the Empire but to Krennic himself.

The man had such masterfully manipulated Waylon's mind that by the end of his indoctrination process, he was fully under the Empire's influence.

Waylon walked away from the last indoctrination session with two clear goals in mind: protect Krennic and the Empire, and exterminate the Rebellion from the galaxy.

He would happily kill any Rebel he saw if it meant preserving the Empire.

The training also led to physical changes.

Physically, Waylon was everything Krennic required: an imposing and intimidating 1.93 meters in height and 97 kilograms of muscle.

But Krennic would see to it that Waylon would be molded into an ideal fighting machine.

Waylon underwent procedures and operations that included cybernetic enhancements to his brain, which allowed him to see, hear, and even smell more accurately than the average human. These enhancements also gave him increased situational awareness.

After many grueling months, the training was completed.

He was called into Krennic's office to be officially designated a Death Trooper.

He marched into the man's spacious space with military precision: every step in time, every movement calculated. He halted just before the director's desk and stood at attention.

"You have proven yourself to me over the last few months. You have proven that you will not only uphold the rule of the Empire but also the advancement of Imperial Intelligence," Krennic said in a stern voice, standing up from his desk.

The director retrieved the glistening black helmet of a Death Trooper from underneath his desk and walked over to stand beside Waylon.

"This custom helmet will define you, it will become a part of your body, as will your other armor and equipment. Welcome onboard, DT-3222."

Waylon snapped to a salute, "I'm honored, sir."

Krennic saluted back, "As you should be. You now join the ranks of the most specialized troopers in the entire Imperial Army."

Krennic then handed the helmet to Waylon, the dark-haired man examining his reflection in the lifeless visors. Krennic returned and presented him with a pauldron, which Waylon hastily accepted.

" DT-3222, I'm entrusting you with leading your team, and Imperial Intelligence, to victory."

"You can count on me, sir. Those rebel pests don't stand a chance," Waylon spat with venom in his voice.

Krennic nodded in satisfaction. "Good, dismissed," he said as he turned back to his desk.

Waylon snapped one final salute, turned about and marched out of the office.

Tucked underneath of his left arm was his new identity. Waylon Madrik of Odisar—a farmer on a small plot of land, who had fled from violence—was gone. In his place was a ruthless killing machine, DT-3222.

* * *

1,000,000 light years away.

Benjamin was getting bored, very bored.

He'd been sent out on a "supply mission" to the planet Fusai. His ship was carrying supplies- to make the ruse seem real—but his mission goals lay elsewhere.

He'd received more information during his long journey to the planet. Mothma had instructed him to tell no one of his real purposes. She also gave him an update on his targets.

They were both Rebel soldiers and Mothma had provided evidence that showed they were involved in the recent murder of a local farmer and his family.

Captain Piers Drugun and Major Calhun Hewlett.

Their service records were good; both of them had served in multiple sectors of the galaxy and under multiple generals. Both didn't have any major complaints against them. They appeared outwardly as model soldiers of the Alliance.

But the evidence of the murder showed otherwise.

The farmer was killed with a blaster bolt through the head—execution style. The man's wife was also killed, although it looked like she had been severely beaten, the shot—also execution style. Their two children fared no better. Ben couldn't bring himself to look at the photos Mon Mothma had provided him.

He would make sure these two would never hurt another living soul.

The Fusai sector was in the Outer Rim, a more remote part of the galaxy. And the planet was in a remote part of the Outer Rim. Needless to say, he didn't see many ships around the planet as he dropped out of hyperspace.

The planet was small and orbited a dim red star. The planet was a green-yellow color with the poles appearing darker green in color.

Because it was so remote, Fusai had become a safe world for the Alliance. Rebel soldiers were greeted by the local populace with open arms, mostly. The Rebellion kept a constant squadron of troops based on the planet, prepared if any Imperial threat reached this far out into the Outer Rim.

He was surprised when he was able to pass into the atmosphere without as much as a code check.

Once he penetrated the atmosphere, the green-yellow haze that had surrounded the planet slowly faded away. As he descended, the skies turned to a light blue. Reaching the base of the thick cloud layer he could see a large settlement ahead. Descending slowly, he managed to land the bulky supply ship in the smallest—and only available—docking bay.

As he shut the ship off and lowered the ramp, the ship was approached by three armed Rebels.

"Is this the supplies we're supposed to get," one of the soldiers asked. He had a gruff appearance as if he had experienced many battles.

"Yep," Ben said in a light voice. "I was told to escort these supplies to the main base on the world. Do you guys know where that is?"

One of them, a young soldier, chuckled. "Yeah, we do. The base is in the center of town," the man jabbed his thumb towards one of the bay's walls. Ben furrowed his eyebrows but said nothing. "We have been instructed to supervise the transport of these goods." The older gentleman said.

"That's fine," Ben replied.

The goods were soon unloaded by droids and put onto large hovercarts. With the supplies and ship secured, they began their trek towards the urban Rebel base.

As they proceeded towards the base, Ben scanned his surroundings. The main city didn't look that much different from Aldera on Alderaan.

It was quite a bit smaller, and there weren't tall spires shooting into the sky, but the streets were bustling with foot traffic. Much like Aldera, commercial markets and open-air vendors filled the streets, in some cases making it difficult for the goods to get through the streets.

Eventually, they reached what was the main Rebel base on the planet. It was nothing more than a planetary government building that had been converted into military use. It was taller and more robust than the buildings around it, but it certainly wasn't the grandest building in the city. For security reasons, the building had been isolated from its surroundings. The two buildings adjacent to the base were vacant and mothballed. Armed soldiers patrolled the roof of the base, and out in front of the building stood armed guards, barricades, and turrets. The building was a guarded enclave amongst a small bustling capital city.

One of the armed guards in the front of the building halted them with a wave of his hand. He quickly appeared to confer with his fellow soldier, and the pair walked over the Ben.

"Are these the supplies we ordered?" The man asked in a stern tone.

"Yep," Ben replied.

"Let me see some documentation," the man said.

Ben produced the papers confirming the order.

The guard then handed the papers to his companion. The man nodded his head in acceptance, "their good."

The papers were then handed back to Ben. "Let me see your clearance and identification, Lieutenant."

Ben fumbled for a moment. He was fine showing the man his identification, but his clearance? That would've raised some questions. In the end, he decided to not create a scene and indulged the guard.

The man looked at his identification and quickly handed it back to Ben, satisfied with what he saw. He then ran Ben's name through an electronic database and whistled when he saw the clearance level the young man had.

"Tell me, Lieutenant Madrik, why would someone like you need a Black-level clearance?" The guard deadpanned at him.

Ben didn't immediately reply and five sets of eyes stared at him, waiting for an answer.

"Well, being in the Supply and Transport Division, I transport not only food and medical supplies, but also secret equipment and tech." He hoped they were satisfied with the false answer.

They were. The two guards nodded in acceptance. "I'm sure the Alliance has a great many secrets. I'll leave you the task of transporting them. You're good to go." The two guards stepped aside and the barricade was lifted; the supplies soon passing into the secure area.

"Where is all this going to go?" Ben asked the gruff soldier who had escorted him from the landing bay.

"We're going to go around back to the freight elevator. The officer signing over the supplies will be Major Hewlett."

That got Ben's attention: Hewlett was one of his targets.

They soon arrived at the freight elevator and began to load the supplies on the large rectangular platform. With all the supplies loaded, the gruff man stepped on, as did Ben. His two other companions stayed behind and went about other duties.

As the elevator slowly engaged and began to rise, Ben began to think. How would he deal with these two targets? Mothma hadn't been specific in what she wanted: captured or killed.

The ride up was short, and soon they reached the fourth floor. They both began to unload the freight from the elevator.

With the freight unloaded, they had droids transport it down a short hallway to the last door on the right.

The gruff man knocked.

"Yes?" Another rough voice responded from behind the door.

"Supplies have arrived, major." The gruff man said.

The door suddenly slid open to reveal a burly and bald man. "Ah, they have finally arrived! It's about time. You may return to your duties, sergeant."

The sergeant nodded and walked off down the hallway back to the freight elevator. That left Ben, alone, with the major.

"Well don't just stand there, unload these supplies into my office." The major said in a clipped tone.

Ben disliked him already.

Ben set about doing the menial task, the droids helping him place the supplies in the room. Major Hewlett did nothing but watch the process unfold.

After the supplies had been unloaded, taking up most of the space in the office, Hewlett ordered the droids the leave, and the door shut behind the exiting machinery.

That left Ben alone with the man.

"Well, hand over those papers and let me see what we have gotten from our gracious commanders," the major spat the last word with contempt.

Ben handed over the papers, which Hewlett snatched out of his hands, and was left standing.

The major, reading over the papers, noticed. "Well, don't just stand there you fool! Show me what we have. Goodness above, you are as foolish and inept as these animals they call citizens on this planet."

"Sure thing, major," Ben replied in a calm tone. His mind was now made up; he knew how he was going to deal with the major.

He walked and talked the major over a few of the supply crates, reaching the last one. The major made a move to peer into the container; that's when Ben made his move.

He grabbed the man's right arm, wrenched it behind his fat body and simultaneously slammed his head into the corner of the hard crate. Ben felt the man's skull shattering as it impacted the hard durasteel. He held onto the body and let it down to the ground slowly. He then stood to full height and listened to see if anyone had been alerted. Looking around the room, he was relieved to find to holocameras that may have caught his act on tape.

With the major's rapidly cooling body at his feet, he patted down his wrinkled uniform and walked out of the door.

* * *

By the time he had found Captain Piers Drugun, news had already spread of Major Hewlett's demise. Ben knew he had to get out of there fast. Drugun was in his small office, sipping on a cup of caf. He sported red hair and a large scar across his face. To Ben, he was the epitome of a murderer. He ended the man much in the same as his unlucky colleague.

* * *

Andre had returned the Imperial Center in his black officer's uniform of the Stormtrooper Corps rather than the white armor that had grown to define him.

He stepped off of the transport and into the main spaceport.

The area was bustling with human beings dressed in every type of clothing one could imagine. At one point there was a sizeable population of alien residents on the planet, but with the coming of the Empire, and the Emperor's anti-alien political views, the number of non-human sentients had dwindled.

As he exited the spaceport, the enormous buildings, that defined the planet and stretched high into the orange sky, appeared. The skyscrapers seemingly went on forever, and indeed they did. The entire planet was just one large city with very few natural areas left. In between the towering structures were the sky-lanes, which were filled with speeders and taxis of every make and model.

As Andre walked further away from the spaceport, he took a route to the home that had become familiar to him. He knew the walk would take no longer than twenty minutes, and he fiddled with the idea of getting an air taxi to his apartment building. He soon dismissed the idea as he stared at the sky-lanes longer. It was rush-hour on the planet, and an air-taxi may have well taken more time than walking. Walking would also allow him to think.

He didn't know what he would say to his parents. How would they react? Should he fabricate some of the story to make the impact of Ben's existence not as harsh?

He knew both of his parents, and now only his father, had been consumed by guilt in the two-and-a-half years since they had left their planet, and he didn't know if his father was ready to hear what he had to say.

He was so consumed in his thoughts that by the time he decided on a course of action, he had arrived at his apartment building.

The building was nothing unique; it shot skyward like all the other buildings. It's dark façade covered in windows that reflected the light of the setting sun.

The building was a few kilometers away from the Emperors Palace and the main headquarters for the Imperial Armed Forces. In fact, his bedroom window had a nice view of both buildings in the distance.

Being in such proximity to the most important buildings in the galaxy, the apartment buildings surrounding the area were reserved for members of the Imperial Military and their families.

Andre's apartment building was no different. Imperials inhabited nearly every room in the building's hundreds of floors.

He walked into the main lobby and pressed the elevator button. A chime sounded and the doors opened. He then inputs the floor number, and the elevator shot upwards at a dizzying speed.

He arrived on his floor soon after, the doors opening to reveal a lighted hallway.

He took a deep breath and exited the elevator, making his way towards the door that led to his apartment.

His hand hovered over the keypad, but he hesitated. He took another deep breath and steeled himself for what he was about to do.

He input the proper code and the door slid open. He walked into the small foyer and stopped, listening.

"Andre?" He heard his father call out.

"Dad?" He replied. Footsteps pattered on the flooring, growing louder, and soon his father appeared. He was dressed in a pair of informal red pants with a black long-sleeved shirt. He wore no shoes, his feet bare.

"Andre, my boy!" Waylon said as he moved to hug him, "it's good to have you back."

He returned the hug and smiled slightly. "I missed you."

"You have to tell me all about your recent exploits," Waylon told his oldest son.

They soon moved into the main living room, which contained large windows that looked out of the cityscape beyond, and sat down on the large sofa.

"So," Waylon began, "tell me about what you've been up to?"

"You first," Andre pointed to his dad.

Waylon laughed, "Okay, I'll go first. I have a new title and position."

"What is it?" Andre said, intrigued by the new information.

"Director Krennic, of Advanced Weapons Research, asked me to command some of his personal troops," Waylon said.

Andre's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "No way! That's so cool! Have you undergone training yet?"

For an instant, Waylon's face turned into a neutral look, as if he was in deep contemplation, but he soon replied. "Yes, I've undergone some serious training."

Andre nodded, satisfied with the answer.

"Now you," Waylon pointed to him, "what have you been up to?"

Andre snorted. "You both work in Imperial Intelligence. You probably know where I've been and what I've done."

Both of his parents smiled and laughed at that. "I know that you went to Alderaan. Did you have any trouble with those Rebel sympathizers?" Waylon asked.

Andre's face turned downtrodden and he sighed.

This was it, the moment of truth.

"Andre, what is it?" His father asked in concern.

"I need to tell you about something that happened on Alderaan," he said quietly.

"What is it? You can tell me anything," Waylon said with conviction in his voice.

Andre didn't know what to say. For all the thinking and planning he'd done, it all seemingly went out the window. So, he settled on the most straightforward answer.

"Ben's alive," he said averting his eyes from his parents.

Silence reigned in the apartment. After a minute of silence, Ben looked up towards his father.

Waylon looked shocked, but Andre could see a billowing anger in his eyes.

"What did you say?" Waylon asked in a cold whisper.

"Benjamin is alive, I saw him on Alderaan," Andre said a second time.

"How can you be sure?" Waylon asked him in a raised voice.

" He stood less than a foot away from me."

"What?" His father asked in a cracked voice.

" He stood and stared at me after taking down my men," Andre replied.

"What do you mean 'took down my men'?" Waylon asked the anger in his voice was palpable.

"He took down my men to escape. He nearly shot me with his blaster but froze. It was as if he recognized me beneath my helmet," Andre shuttered at the memory.

"How can you know if it was him!?" Waylon's anger finally surfaced. "He's been gone for two years; how can you know!?"

"I just do," Andre said softly. "I am positive it was him," Andre said with conviction once more.

"How!?" Waylon nearly screamed.

"His eyes," Andre said softly, "I've never seen so much sadness and betrayal in one being my entire life."

Tears of shock and rage finally spilled over his father's cheeks, and suddenly Waylon stood up, staring down at Andre with hard eyes.

"If it was him, why was he shooting at your troops?"

Andre took a deep breath before answering. His father was staring at him. He both knew how much he despised the Rebellion. How much he blamed the Alliance for causing his son's "death."

"Because he's a lieutenant for the Rebellion, and he was retrieving an Imperial prisoner." Andre had barely finished the sentence before he heard the door to his father's bedroom slam shut, Waylon having fled the living room the moment he had uttered the statement.

He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

Their lives had been changed irrevocably.


	6. Close Encounters

Chapter 6: Close Encounters:

Ben had returned to Dantooine Base after the completion of his mission. When he got there he found it in a state of disarray.

As he landed in a hanger bay, he noticed a stream of ships exiting. The inside of the hanger was also a chaotic mess, with soldiers and supplies moving rapidly around.

Ben was confused. It looked like the base was being evacuated. He frowned in confusion; he hadn't been notified of the evacuation.

He exited his ship and quickly ran towards his quarters, hoping to see if his stuff was still there.

He found his door was still closed and securely locked. Just as he was about to open the door, he looked across the hall towards Cassian's former quarters. The door was left open and the inside of the room was bare. It was obvious that Andor had left sometime before.

Ben keyed the code and the door slid open and he found his room just as he left it.

He quickly packed his belongings and prepared to leave. He then noticed a datapad sitting on the small night table by his bed. He hadn't remembered putting the device there when he left.

He picked it up and quickly activated it. It was from Mothma. The message informed him that she knew of his mission completion, that the base was being abandoned for fear of unwanted Imperial attention, and that he was to meet her once he arrived at the Rebel Fleet.

He stuffed the datapad into his bag and quickly left the room.

He reached the hanger, which was still in chaos, and found a transport that was ready to leave. As he boarded, he noticed that the supply ship he had landed just ten minutes prior was missing, most likely commandeered by panicked rebels.

The transport lifted off, the ramp closing as it ascended into the atmosphere. Before it closed, Ben could see ships of all types streaming to and from the base. He could also see that some of the base's superstructure was being dismantled for reuse elsewhere.

As soon as the transport got out of the atmosphere, it went to light speed.

* * *

A few hours later the transport reverted out of light speed.

Ben had been slumbering in his seat and was startled out of dozing by the bumpy reversion. He shook his head and clear his mind.

The ship soon docked with another ship, although the lack of windows in the transport meant that Ben and the others had no idea where they were.

The ramp lowered and Ben was greeted with the sight of a very large hanger, which meant he was on a very large ship.

He slowly walked down the ramp, his head and eyes scanning the large hanger. Ben thought it was big enough to hold the entire Dantooine base in it.

Ben didn't know where to go. He just walked with the flow of the transport traffic. He had just stepped through two large doors when he was approached by a woman wearing the uniform of a major.

"Benjamin Madrik?" The woman asked.

"Yes?" Ben said, feeling the situation was déjà vu all over again.

"Come with me," the woman said, not waiting for Ben to reply before stalking down the hall. Ben quickly followed behind her.

He was led into a hall that contained many doors on either side, and Ben didn't know if they were his quarters or an office.

Was he being led to Mothma?

He got his answer when the woman stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking door and keyed a code.

The door slid open and the woman stepped aside.

"Come in, Benjamin," a very recognizable feminine voice said.

Ben slowly stepped inside, the door shutting behind him, and was greeted with the sight of Mon Mothma. The leader of the Rebellion was dressed in flowing white robes, a smile adorning her face.

Her office was bare with a large desk in the center and two large windows that showed numerous large ships of the Rebel Fleet.

"Ma'am," Ben said as he stood in front of her desk.

Mothma stood by the two large windows and slowly move to stand behind her desk.

"Benjamin, I've heard the results of your mission to Fusai. I have to say that I was expecting a somewhat different outcome, but in the end, it is you who decides whether to use deadly force," her voice was soft and relaxing.

"Ma'am, forgive me for asking, but I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. You haven't given me much information, with all due respect," Ben said in a quiet tone, not wishing to upset Mothma.

The woman merely smiled and gestured to the seat in front of Ben. "Have a seat, Benjamin."

Ben sat without a word.

Mothma took a seat and began to speak.

"Benjamin, I brought you onboard because I saw something in you: a passion to ensure that what happened to you never happens to anyone else. That is why I have tasked you with not only combating the proliferation of the Empire but the Rebellion as well."

"I hope you don't mind the interruption," Ben said, "but you're the leader of the Rebellion. Don't you have the most authority?"

Mothma smiled. "In theory I should, but when the Rebellion was created, it was decided that power shouldn't rest in the hands of one individual, but rather, a group of individuals. That created problems for me. If a soldier under a general, say Rieekan, committed murder, I could not have that soldier detained. Only General Rieekan could issue such a directive. The division of power, while necessary, creates obstacles for justice. That is why I reached out to you."

"How did you find me?" Ben asked in all seriousness.

"Simple. I had heard about the genocide and subsequent war on Odisar. I had known that you had gained quite a reputation during that conflict. When I saw your name among those enlisted in the Rebellion, I knew you would be a valuable asset," Mothma replied with sincerity.

Ben nodded but said nothing. He had tried to forget his time fighting against the cartel and his own fellow citizens.

"How many people know of this plan of yours?" Ben asked curiously.

"You and I," was Mothma's immediate reply.

Ben gaped in shock for a moment. "We're the only two people in the entire Rebellion that knows of this?"

Mothma nodded and then spoke in a whisper. "If word were to get out that I had assigned an individual to conduct covert operations, which may result in fatalities amongst our own troops, you and I would be shot on the spot for treason."

Ben gulped. The stakes were big, huge even. He didn't know if he should continue in this effort. But then the images of men, women, and children, all lying in a ditch came into his mind. He shook his head. He couldn't let Odisar be repeated, lest of all by Rebel forces.

"I'm in," he replied sternly.

Mothma smiled. "Excellent," she stood up from her desk and walked over to a cabinet. She pulled out what appeared to be clothing, for what purpose, Ben did not know.

She then dropped the dark blue clothing onto the desk in front of Ben. It was then that Ben realized the clothing was a uniform. "Here is your new, unique uniform."

Ben reached out and grasped the uniform, looking it over. "Ma'am two things: this uniform displays an improper rank—I'm a lieutenant not a captain—and second, wouldn't this uniform make me stand out?"

Mothma gave a small laugh. "Benjamin the uniform is not wrong; you're receiving a promotion. And as for the uniform, while it is indeed not a standard alliance uniform color, I have created a cover position for you as my chief of staff. In the Alliance, generals who wish to have chiefs of staff are allowed to have a unique uniform for that position as a way to differentiate their advisors from common soldiers. I have done the same for you, albeit for an entirely different purpose."

Ben nodded, satisfied with the woman's explanation.

"One other thing," Mothma said, "clearance will be modified to allow you unrestricted access into our personnel files and records."

Mothma also handed him a comm unit.

"This comm is a direct link between you and I; use it only in emergency situations. Otherwise, I will contact you with your missions and/or information through this comm. Keep it close," she said as she handed the handheld unit to him.

"How will it remain secure?" Ben asked.

"You'll have to trust the Force for that," Mothma replied with a smile.

Ben grimaced. He believed in the Force and all, but he was no Jedi.

Ben then nodded. "Excellent," he said as he stood. He gauged that their conversation was coming to an end.

Mothma handed him his uniform, which he graciously accepted, and bid him farewell. Just as he reached the threshold, she gave him one last piece of information.

"With your new rank of captain, you will have to raise a small team of trusted soldiers to assist you."

Ben turned back towards Mothma. "When do you want this team by?"

"The end of three standard days," Mothma replied as she walked over to the viewport once more.

"It will be done, ma'am," he said before exiting her office.

* * *

In his new, temporary quarters, Ben looked over the new uniform he'd received. The pants were dark blue, nearly black, as was the uniform coat, which was long enough to nearly reach his knees. It was topped off with a dark blue peaked cap with the insignia of the Rebel Alliance on the front. However, the rank patch was located on both sides of the collar rather than the usual single patch worn over the right side of the chest. Another oddity was the cuffs. They displayed three thin gold fabric bands that wrapped around the sleeve. Ben guessed those were indicative of rank.

He pondered the uniform a bit more before sleep got the better of him.

* * *

Andre's leave came and went with silence. Ever since he'd told his father what had happened to him, no one spoke. Not to each other, nor their friends. In fact, they barely left the apartment throughout the two weeks of Andre's leave.

When it was time to leave, he quietly knocked on their bedroom door early in the morning. He quietly said his goodbye, and without hearing a response, left the apartment and made his way back to the spaceport.

When he finally arrived back at the Imperial Fleet, it was a reprieve from the days of constant silence back at home.

Andre made his way to his platoon's barracks and began to settle in.

His relaxation was short lived.

An officer, a major based on his uniform markings, walked into the barracks as soon as every platoon member had arrived.

"Platoon 1841, you have received new orders. There has been an escape of potentially high level Rebel prisoners from Imperial custody. You have been tasked, along with other regiments, to head to the small planet moon of Jedha. The Empire believes that the Rebellion is in the process of recruiting and consolidating their forces in order to attack the Empire in one decisive blow. You will be responsible for patrolling and investigating any potential Rebel activity on the moon," the man stopped talking, whirled about on his heels, and promptly exited the barracks.

Silence reigned for a few moments before their captain, TK-9897, began to bark out orders.

"TK-5577," referring to Andre's TK designation, "debrief any potential stragglers, and order the troopers to prepare their equipment beforehand. TK-4156," the platoon's lieutenant," clarify proper coordinates for our outposts and patrol areas on the planet."

"Yes, sir!" Andre and the platoon lieutenant barked. They then went about their orders.

* * *

 _Three Days Later_

Benjamin was nervous. He had taken most of the three days Mothma had given him to acquire a small team scurrying around and searching personnel files.

He didn't know what do you. He'd never done this sort of investigation before.

Eventually, after scouring many hundreds of files, he whittled down the pool of those he found to just two names: Corporal Silas Bronk of the Alliance Army and Flight Officer Chuchi Rotunda.

Ben was walking readying himself to go and find these two individuals—if they were with the fleet, as their files indicated—when the comm that Mothma had given him began to beep.

"Hello, Mothma," Ben said.

"Captain, I have important news. You will need to forgo forming a team at this moment. Send me what names you have and I will look further into them. For now, you are being dispatched to the small planet of Jedha. To keep mission parameters secure, information is being sent to another device in your possession. Read and follow it carefully."

"Yes, ma'am," Ben replied respectfully.

"Good luck," Mothma said before the line went dead.

Suddenly his datapad beep a notification. He had an incoming transmission. Switching the device on, Ben was greeted with further information.

The message read: "Alliance Intelligence has been engaged in raising a team in preparation of intercepting major Imperial secrets. The recruitment is being led by Cassian Andor, your former mentor. The Alliance has received numerous reports that Imperial forces are also being dispatched to the moon in order to put a stop to Andor's activities. You are to ensure that Andor and his assets get off-world without impediment. A ship is being prepared in Hanger Bay 221."

Ben was left rereading the message over again. How was he to ensure that Andor and his assets made it off safely? He shook his head in exasperation. He'd find a way; he knew he would.

He found a small ship readied for him when he got to the designated hanger bay.

He quickly blasted off towards Jedha.

* * *

Andre and his platoon had landed on Jedha a standard day ago. They quickly acclimated themselves with the new surroundings and began sending out patrols into the many small towns around the small Imperial outpost.

Today he was going to lead a squad of soldiers to patrol an area where an informant had notified them that two individuals were spotted. One bore a striking resemblance to an escaped Imperial prisoner: Jyn Erso.

They patrolled the streets, sweeping the area where the reported escaped prisoner was sighted. They saw an individual that looked a lot like Erso. Andre ordered that the pair be apprehended, which they were. But just as they were preparing to leave with Erso and her Alliance companion, they were stopped in their tracks.

The platoon stood in the center of a small square in the middle of town, with Andre in the center.

A man, wearing robes that harkened back to the Jedi of the Old Republic, and carrying a staff, suddenly walked out into the square.

"The Force is strong with me," the man said with conviction.

Andre immediately went on the defensive. His stance, along with the other troopers, shifted into a defensive position.

"Halt!" He shouted, but the man kept advancing.

As the man got closer, Andre noticed his eyes were clouded over.

"He's blind!" He told his troops.

"Is he deaf?" Another trooper casually asked.

"Halt!" Andre shouted once more as his blaster came to bear.

The man appeared to hear the sounds, his head turning in multiple directions.

Then he pulled the trigger.

The man dodged the shot, which impacted the trooper standing behind him, sending the man in white armor down to the ground.

Andre moved to shoot again, but he was taken to the ground with a hard kick to the stomach, momentarily knocking the wind out of him.

He set about trying to get to his feet, breathing deeply to get air in his body once more. When he finally stood, he was shocked at what he was seeing.

His entire squad was being beaten by a blind man with a stick. He was systematically knocking them out. He leg swiped one, and used another as a human shield. The trooper took multiple blaster shots from his companion; however, his armor prevented any fatal damage being done. He too was soon knocked out.

With their numbers dwindling, Andre decided to make his move.

He moved behind the blind man, who was currently knocking out one of his troopers with a staff hit to the helmet. No sooner had he approached when the blind man pounced on him. He hit Andre with a stiff staff strike to the helmet, shattering one of his lenses and causing him to fall. No sooner had his back hit the ground when the man thrust the staff into his jaw, knocking him unconscious.

His world faded to black.

* * *

Ben had landed near the small village where he heard Andor was last spotted. As he walked through the various alleyways, he saw the bodies of white armored stormtroopers: some dead, others unconscious.

He had dressed in civilian garb to blend in. He then came upon a large square, where he found a large concentration of prone stormtroopers.

Some had been killed with a high powered blaster bolt slicing through their armor. Looking around, he noticed that another stormtrooper had been shot multiple times, his armor protecting him from fatal wounds, but the man was clearly knocked out.

Some of the prone troopers were beginning to stir slightly, as if just waking up. Much of their armor revealed dents and cracks where they'd been hit with something.

Ben stood still in surprise. He knew of only one person that had such means.

Chirrut Imwe.

From the intelligence he had on well-known Alliance members and collaborators, he knew that Imwe was very good at using his staff as a weapon. He had even taught Ben how to fight with it, in case he needed to improvise when it came to weapons. He knew that Imwe had bested this squad of Imperial stormtroopers.

Ben began to look closer at the group of troopers, and he stilled in shock as he rested eyes on one that lay face up, unmoving.

He'd seen the trooper before. The soldier had a distinctive dark colored nick on his helmet, near the right microphone tip. He had seen such a battle scar before: the trooper he stared down on Alderaan.

He didn't know what compelled him to move, but he did. Around him, other stormtroopers were coming to their senses and would possibly see him as a threat. But he bent down on one knee, and grabbed a hold of the trooper's shoulder plate, shaking it firmly.

The trooper didn't move, but Ben saw his chest moving up and down.

He shook the shoulder plate a little more incessantly. Finally, the trooper began to stir. Ben released his grip and waited.

He could see the man's right eyelid beneath his shattered visor. It slowly opened to reveal a bright blue eye beneath.

 _Almost like Andre_ , Ben thought wistfully.

He suddenly saw the blue eye widen in shock, and the trooper sat up in an instant.

The movement startled Ben so much that he grabbed his blaster.

"Benjamin?" The trooper said in a modulated tone.

Ben narrowed his eyes. How in Sith hell did this stormtrooper know who he was?

The trooper apparently saw the reaction. "Benny?"

That made Ben freeze and stare into the trooper's helmet. There were only two people in the galaxy that called him by that nickname.

The bright blue eye behind the shattered visor shone with unshed tears.

"You survived," the electronic voice whispered. The trooper moved to put a hand on Ben's shoulders.

Ben batted it away angrily. "No," he said, his voice cracking with anger and grief. "Don't you dare touch me." He suddenly stood up and towered over the trooper.

The trooper slowly and unsteadily got to his feet to face Ben, the latter was nearly hyperventilating.

Ben was certain he knew who lay behind the mask, the trooper's bright blue eyes giving his identity away.

They stared at each other, brothers on opposite sides of a war.

Andre moved to put his hand on Ben's shoulder again. This time Ben physically moved away. Andre sighed, his unshed tears finally spilled out over his helmeted cheeks.

Ben could see the eye beneath the visor was wet with tears, but he didn't care.

"You left me to die," he said in a low, deadly tone of voice. "For two years I hoped, I waited for my family to come get me: to rescue me from my living hell. But you abandoned me, you betrayed me. You threw me out like a piece of trash." He turned around and began to walk away.

"Ben, wait," Andre called out behind him, taking a stumbling step towards Benjamin.

Ben stopped momentarily and turned to face Andre.

"Nothing you can say will make me forgive you or them. I will never forgive you."

Ben began walking away once more. "If you or they try to follow or find me, I will not hesitate to kill you," he gave a momentary pause before speaking again.

"Just like you killed me."


	7. The Plans

Chapter 7: The Plans

It had been nearly two weeks since Ben had the encounter on Jedha; two weeks filled with anger, sadness, and longing. He stayed up many nights longing to be loved again. He knew he was valued by the Alliance, by Mon Mothma, but he wanted to be loved by his family.

Seeing Andre also made a question form in his mind: If Andre had joined the Imperial Military, had his father joined as well?

After he had returned from his emergency mission on Jedha, Mothma immediately got him back to forming his small team.

He was given ample time to visit and vet the two potential selections.

Silas Bronk was a young man like he was. He was, thankfully, stationed with the Rebel Fleet as Ben formed his new team. Ben watched the young corporal from afar, noticing his courage, and his blunt attitude. Bronk would tell it like it is not how one wanted it to be. Bronk also was specialized in the field of explosives, which would potentially prove useful in hunting down targets.

Eventually, after shadowing Bronk for two days, Ben decided to talk to the corporal himself.

He found the man on the way to his barracks.

"Corporal Bronk," Ben said as he approached the man.

Bronk turned around to face the voice that had called his name. He saw an unknown individual, a captain, wearing a unique dark blue uniform approach him.

"Yes, sir?" He said respectfully.

Ben stopped just before reaching Bronk. "My name is Ben Madrik, and I have an interesting proposition for you."

"Really," Bronk said in a sarcastically light tone of voice.

Ben knew such a tone well, and he smiled. "Yes," he looked around the hallway, "is there someplace more private we can talk?"

"Sure," Bronk said as he led Ben to an empty storage room.

Once they were inside the cramped storage closet, Ben ensured that the door behind them was securely closed.

"I want to know if you're interested in working on Mon Mothma's staff," Ben said, not totally telling a lie but not giving a complete truth. He would tell that to Bronk later if he accepted.

Bronk stood silently for a moment. His eyes reflecting deep thought. Finally, he looked straight into Ben's eyes.

" I would be honored, Captain Madrik," Bronk replied.

Ben nodded and presented his hand which Bronk accepted. " I would be glad to have you joining the team, Sergeant Bronk."

The man's eyes widened in shock, "Sergeant, sir?"

Ben nodded.

Silas' smile grew until it enveloped his entire face.

* * *

Ben's next potential referral, Flight Officer Chuchi Ersik, was a little more difficult to find. She was a member of a Rebel fighter squadron that was currently on-duty supporting the Phoenix rebel cell. The cell was nearly 500,000 light years away from the Rebel Fleet.

Ben, using his security clearance, was able to obtain an exact location of their small fleet.

When he came out of hyperspace, he was surprised to see the fleet only consisted of five ships.

"Shuttle, what is your clearance code. Repeat, what is your clearance code?" A voice suddenly crackled over his comm.

Not wanting to get blown into space dust, Ben replied quickly. "Clearance code Organa, Sheev, Windu."

"Granted. Dock in hanger number 12 on _Phoenix Home,"_ the man over the comm. Instructed.

Ben did as he was told and soon docked in the designated hanger. He was soon greeted by three armed soldiers.

"State your name and purpose on this vessel," the leader of the squad said.

"I'm here to see Flight Officer Chuchi Ersik. Do you know where I can find her?"

The three soldiers conferred amongst themselves for a few moments, shooting glances at him, before the leader reached down and spoke into his comm.

He waited a full minute before a reply came. Then the squad leader nodded and said, "follow me."

Ben followed behind the soldiers at a leisurely pace, walking through a seemingly endless maze of hallways and rooms. After walking for what seemed like forever, they finally arrived at their destination.

It was a medium-sized training room, and in it was a group of individuals dressed in the orange jumpsuits worn by Alliance pilots.

The group appeared to be currently finishing a meeting, each member going their separate ways. Through the dispersing crowd, Ben thought he saw Chuchi's face amongst the crowd. He'd seen her file photo while searching for a team, and he recognized her features.

The three soldiers escorting him suddenly left without as much as a word, walking down the hall. Ben took to leaning against the wall opposite the door as the pilots filed out. When Chuchi came out alone, she suddenly caught eyes with Ben and stopped.

"Chuchi Ersik?" Ben asked rising from the wall and standing in the middle of the hallway.

"Yes?" The woman replied with a suspicious look.

"My name is Captain Ben Madrik. I'm here to offer you a proposition."

"Which is?" Chuchi raised her eyebrow.

"I'm here to offer you a position on Mon Mothma's newly created staff," Ben smiled when he saw Chuchi's eyes nearly bug out of her face.

"What?" She replied hoarsely.

"I want you for Mothma's staff," he said once again.

"I would be honored," Chuchi replied instantly.

"Excellent. I will remain on ship while you gather your belongings. If you would like, I have space on my ship for some of your stuff. I know you have a fighter; I will provide you with coordinates for the Rebel Fleet. Once there, call this comm," he handed Chuchi a comm code on an increasingly rare piece of paper.

* * *

Ben returned to the Rebel Fleet, informed Mothma of his picks, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. It took only two standard days for both Chuchi and Bronk to arrive at the fleet, the later having finally accepting Ben's offer.

He met them in the hanger, the pair arriving, coincidently, at the same time.

After the two had unpacked, they stood in front of Ben. "Welcome to your new home away from home," he told the pair. "I will show you to your quarters and then I'll brief you."

After arriving and getting acquainted with their quarters, Ben ushered them to an office.

Ben once again smiled when he saw the look of awe come across the others' faces when they saw who occupied said office.

"Hello there. I see my new team is ready to go," Mothma said as she stood behind her desk.

" New team? I thought we were your new staff," Silas said in confusion.

Ben shut and locked the door behind them, both Chuchi and Silas looking to Ben worriedly.

"Take a seat," Mothma said softly as she gestured to the two chairs in front of her desk.

She then told them the real reason that they were there. The real mission and duties they would carry out. At times, both of the newcomers appeared hesitant or even angered. But in the end both accepted to join the new team.

"What shall we call you?" Mothma said, leaning forward on her desk.

"What do you mean, ma'am?" Ben said as he stood by the door.

Mothma smirked as she surveyed the three young soldiers that stood before her. "Well, I can't just call you by your names. How about Detail 3?"

Ben saw the two others nod and smirked. The name was pretty boring and generic in his opinion, but he wasn't here to create team names. He was here to catch the bad guys.

"It'll do, ma'am," he said.

Mothma smiled at him. "Why Benjamin, you don't sound totally convinced."

* * *

Waylon felt as though he were in a dream. He had felt this way since Andre had told him the news. He didn't believe it at first. He told himself that Andre had hallucinated or was lying. That he hadn't seen Benny; he just imagined him. He kept up this self-assurance for many days, until Andre's mission to Jedha.

Using his clearance, he found the report from Andre's platoon. It mentioned a monk-like individual successfully knocking out the entire platoon; gang members; an individual with long black hair wearing heavy armor and armed with a heavy blaster rifle; and a third, unknown individual. The report listed the individual as wearing dark blue with greenish-blue eyes.

Waylon knew someone with greenish-blue eyes: his youngest son.

The past couple of weeks had been hectic. There were reports that the Rebellion was planning a major attack or secretive operation against the Empire, perhaps to steal the Death Star plans. As a result, Krennic had sent out every available personnel to get the plans back into the hands of the Empire.

His unit, 777, had been dispatched to the backwaters planet of Dathomir in the Outer Rim. The planet was considered to be beautiful by galactic standards, yet because of its location, a majority of planet remained unexplored. Krennic was dispatching unit 777 to Dathomir to follow up on leads that contacts had reported: a Rebel SpecOps team was supposedly setting up base on the planet.

Unit 777 consisted of five total members: Commander DT-3222, Sergeant DT-3161, DT-2987, DT-2460, and DT-3403.

They were to seek out, destroy the secret unit, and retrieve any damaging information they have on the Empire.

* * *

Unit 777 set out two days later. The small stealth ship they were on was cramped but manageable. Waylon sat in the cockpit most hours of the day, watching the blue of hyperspace pass by. The stealth ship contained little in the way of privacy.

The unit of Death Troopers past the time by talking, going over operation plans, and engaging in their hobbies. Waylon's favorite hobby was tinkering with equipment, in this case, his blaster and armor, which he had modified substantially. He tried to use his hobby to pass the time, but the thoughts of Ben kept returning to his mind. Needless to say he didn't sleep very much.

By the time they reached Dathomir two days later, he had still not figured out his chaotic emotions: fear, anger, sadness, and guilt.

Waylon landed the ship near one of the towns where one of their contacts resided. Dathomir was much like Alderaan, covered in forests and dotted with large bodies of water.

After landing the stealth ship, Waylon, now known as DT-3222, set out with the rest of his unit. Their goals were to first make contact with their asset then go after the Rebels.

* * *

The first mission of Detail 3 was to, once again, to aid Andor and his motley assorted group.

Ben had only been notified on Andor and his recent activity hours before Mothma sent them off. It didn't surprise Ben that Cassian had begun working alongside Jyn Erso, or that the entire team, known as Rogue One, was planning to steal the Death Star plans.

To Ben, as too many Rebels, Rogue One represented the Alliance: Hope.

He had wondered what Andor had been up to since their split, but he never imagined it would involve the stealing of the Death Star plans.

The small ship they were on was currently in hyperspace. They'd been in hyperspace for a day and would be in hyperspace for another day-and-a-half.

That left time for Ben to think. His thoughts lay with Andre, the older brother who he'd thought betrayed him.

But he'd softened his view somewhat. Seeing the tear filled blue eye and tear stained patch of skin beneath the white stormtrooper helmet had changed him. Ben had always been known as a forgivable individual, and he knew that one day he perhaps would forgive his family. Perhaps he'd even understand why they did what they did. But that time was a long way away.

* * *

Detail 3 arrived at a small village on Dathomir the next day. It reminded Benjamin of Alderaan in many ways. In fact, it looked a lot like Alderaan, except there was no tall royal family or government buildings anywhere in sight.

The town they'd landed in was on the shores of a crystal clear lake. The pale blue waters tempting Ben to bend down and take a sip. He refrained from doing so. He was in charge of this mission, and he had to keep up appearances.

He was dressed in his dark blue captain's uniform. Chuchi and Silas were also dressed in their newly obtained dark blue uniforms as well. They had discovered, walking the halls of the Rebel Fleet dressed in their uniforms, that they looked more like Imperials than Rebels. Ben didn't know how to interpret that; it could be either good or bad, probably both.

They trekked from their ship into the village. It was small by galactic standards, only looking to be inhabited by around 1,000 people. The buildings were constructed of a white stone material. The roads were unpaved, mainly consisting of mud or ground rocks. Surrounding the village was many miles of forests which were bordered by tall white-peaked mountains.

Ben checked his datapad as he walked, reading over the information presented on the screen. This was apparently the village that the crew of Rogue One was taking refuge in.

Ben turned into an alley, following the coordinates on his datapad, and the trio was suddenly stopped when a door on one of the adjacent buildings slid open and a number of people filed out.

Ben instantly recognized the group as the infamous Rogue One, but apparently they didn't recognize him. All of them had their blasters drawn and pointed in their direction. Silas made a move to grab his blaster but Ben stilled him with a hand on his wrist.

"Who are you?" An individual, Baze Malbus, asked in a stern tone.

Ben scanned the crowd; all of Rogue One was here except for Andor and Imwe.

Then another voice came from within the building. "They're friends."

Ben thought he heard someone mutter "they don't look like friends," but his attention was on Andor and Imwe as the two appeared at the doorway.

"Long time no see, Benjamin," Andor said with a smile as he leaned up against the building.

"Likewise, Andor," Ben replied with a smile.

"Are you friends?" Chirrut Imwe said, his cataracts covered eyes fixing Ben with a stare.

"Yes," Ben said.

"Who are they?" Ben saw Jyn Erso asked.

"Rebels," Andor replied, "and they're here to help us."

"How?" Baze Malbus said.

"Meet Ben Madrik and his group, they're Rebel Intelligence," Cassian gestured to the trio of dark blue uniforms.

"Why the uniform color? I thought Rebels wore greens and stuff," Bodhi Rook said.

"We have a somewhat," Ben glanced at Silas and Chuchi, "special mission."

"Which is?" Baze Malbus asked.

"Not for us to know," Andor replied.

"Well, how are we getting off this world?" Erso asked.

Andor glanced at Erso and then to Ben. "We'll figure it out. Everyone come inside."

Ben and the trio waited until all of Rogue One had gone back inside the building before making their way to the door.

Chirrut waited for Ben, and as Ben approached, the warrior monk clapped a hand on Ben's shoulder.

"Did you know I'm blind?" Chuirrut said jokingly.

A smile grew across Ben's face.

* * *

They sat in the small dwelling hashing out a plan of escape. However, as Ben, Andor, and the others talked, Ben felt that they were holding something back.

Especially Jyn Erso, who he'd been told was quite outgoing and not one to stay silent.

"Miss Erso, you're awfully quiet," Ben said as he peered at her over the small table.

"Sometimes I have nothing to say," Jyn replied.

Ben smiled. He diffidently knew they were hiding something from him.

"I know that Rogue One is planning on stealing the Death Star plans ." Ben scanned the room as he said those words, looking to see the reactions from the group.

Most remained steadfast and unmoving; however, two individuals appeared to react to his statement.

Bodhi Rook's facial features displayed uncertainty and his fists clenched. Jyn Erso's facial expressions remained stoic, but her eyes had an edge to them. Ben knew his hunch was correct.

"What are you not telling me?" Ben said as he looked over the group.

"Nothing," Malbus replied a little too quickly.

Ben smirked, "I'm not that stupid."

"We know you aren't, Ben," Andor replied.

"Then you know that I know you are going to steal the Death Star plans very soon."

"And how do you know that?" Erso said defiantly.

"Because you look guilty, "Ben replied. He held up his hand to continue. "The Empire is already hunting for you. Now that they have an inkling that you plan to have those plans in your possession, you can bet Krennic and his forces are on your tail. In fact, they're probably on Dathomir at this very moment."

Some eyes widened but mostly the group remained stone-faced.

"Because the such sensitive information has the potential to be in your possession, we now have to come up with an alternate plan to ensure you remain unmolested as much as possible while you ascertain the location of the plans." He glanced at the door, "and fast."

* * *

Unit 777 had found their contact and gotten the village where Rogue One was operating from. Within the hour, they were stealthily approaching the small village they knew Rogue One was currently occupying. They were moving through a dense thicket of forest and brush, their moves concealed by the darkness of night. Dathomir's night were some of the most unique in the galaxy. The planet had four moons orbiting it, and their reflecting light faintly illuminated the darkest places on the planet. The star the planet orbited around, a red dwarf star, gave the skies a faint red glow. As the Death Troopers stalked through the underbrush, their armor nearly blended in with their surroundings, the faint moonlight and red starlight reflecting off of their reinforced armor. The faint green glow of their helmet's microphone tips was accentuated in the surrounding darkness.

DT-3222 moved in the darkness like it was his natural environment. Of course, his helmet had both night vision and thermal imaging built into the HUD, and his physical enhancements, performed while training to be a Death Trooper, also gave him a better sense of his darkened surroundings.

Waylon slowly stalked beside his fellow soldiers, his blaster rifle in a defensive position, ready for the first sign of enemy movement.

Every minute or two he glanced to troopers. The rush of adrenaline always gave him an excited boost before he went into combat. It cleared his mind and focused him on the mission at hand. He climbed over difficult obstacles with ease, scanning his surroundings for any enemy movement. Physically, his already bulky body had gotten even bigger as he built up his muscles during training. His enhancements also gave him an unnatural ability to hear the faintest of sounds and automatically pinpoint their location.

They were beginning to reach the edge of the village. The lights of the village pierced the surrounding darkness. The outlines of the numerous village buildings were faintly visible in the moonlight.

They halted just outside of the edge of the forest. Unit 777 then reviewed their plan, turning off their external comms and talking amongst themselves. They also took the opportunity to ensure their weapons were readied for combat.

DT-3222 held his hand up in a fist, indicating for his soldiers to make no further movements or sounds. The group fell still, silence reigning at the edge of the forest.

The door of one of the buildings slid open, and a young woman carrying what seem to be clothes walked outside. She hummed a song softly as she hung the clothes up to dry then quickly walked back inside the dwelling.

With the potential threat gone, DT-3222, Waylon, put his fist down. He then turned to look at his sergeant crouching beside him.

DT-3222 then looked past to the two other troopers. They all gave him indications that they were ready to go. Nodding to himself one final time, he gave a hand signal to move forward, their blaster rifles in the ready position.

The unit then began to move into the alleys and backyards of the small village. They were rapidly closing in on their target.

* * *

Ben, Silas, Chuchi, and the Rogue One team were surrounding a small table in their equally small dwelling. They nearly took up the entire living room of the small house.

In the middle of the table was a holoprojector which projected the planet of Dathomir and the surrounding systems.

"We are here on Dathomir, as is obvious," Silas said, pointing to the said planet. "And we all need to get back to the Rebel Fleet, which is here." He pointed to a location around 120,000 light years away from them.

"Do you guys still have a ship?" Ben asked the group.

"We do, but it's in somewhat bad shape," Bodhi Rook replied.

Ben gave a sigh. "Well, that makes it that much more difficult. Where is it located?"

Rook zoomed into Dathomir and pointed to a location not too far away from both the village and Detail 3's own ship.

"Well that should make things easier," Chuchi quipped.

"Indeed," Imwe replied.

"Once we get off world, we're going to have to split up. It is simply too risky, with Imperials closing in on the Death Star plans, to get back to the Rebel Fleet together. Go through unknown systems, or even planet hop if you have to, but remain in constant contact with both the Fleet and us," Ben jabbed a finger at himself.

"Do we know if Imperials are on-world?" Malbus asked in his accented voice.

"Most likely," Ben replied, "they're not that stupid."

A small chuckle rose from the group.

Ben then clapped his hands together. "Get ready to move out."

"When are we leaving?" Jyn asked in a light tone.

"Now," Ben replied.

The room was suddenly a blur of movement as Rogue One hastily gathered their weapons and personal items.

Within less than five minutes, they were all ready to depart.

Detail 3 stood at the front of the group. They would act as point men, warning the group if any threats emerged. They also placed themselves at the front of the group because of their lack of importance. The members of Rogue One, that were needed to steal the Death Star plans, were all infinitely more valuable to the Alliance than the members of Detail 3. Ben, Silas, and Chuchi accepted this fact and took it to heart. They would rather die than see the Death Star destroy the galaxy.

With a glance to Andor, who stood directly behind him, Ben keyed the door, and it slid open. He scanned his surroundings then stepped out into the night. The rest of the large group quickly followed; soon they set off at a brisk pace, their eyes constantly scanning the surrounding darkness.

* * *

Unit 777 was rapidly closing in on their target. They moved slowly through the village, checking every nook and cranny for potential threats.

DT-3222 held up a fist, halting everyone in their tracks, after hearing a door slide open. There were then sounds of multiple footsteps on the loose gravel and dirt streets.

That had to be Rogue One. The Death Star plans were nearly back in the Empire's grasp.

DT-3222 then gave the signal to move in and strike.

* * *

Ben and the rest of the group were taking a number of different routes to get out of the village. He had gone with Cassian, Silas, and Bodhi. The plans were still in Erso's possession, and she had gone with Chuchi, Imwe, and Malbus.

The three of them were briskly walking down a deserted ally. They had their blaster pistols drawn and ready.

Just as Ben turned a corner, he nearly ran into a figure. It was dark and he couldn't see very well, but a second later his shock turned to horror. There, standing less than a half-meter away from him was an Imperial Death Trooper. Benjamin noticed the pauldron worn by the trooper, indicative of an officer.

The Death Trooper also appeared momentarily surprised at the close encounter, but that surprise was short-lived. Both of them brought their blasters to bear and fired at each other at point blank range.

The night was shattered by the screech of two blaster bolts and punctuated by a flash of red and blue light.

Despite the pair of adversaries both being excellent shots, their bolts went wide and impacted the buildings around them.

There was no reprieve before the firefight began. Ben, as well as the first Death Trooper, dived behind whatever cover they could find and began zapping off shots. The single Death Trooper wasn't alone, he was soon reinforced by another Death Trooper.

He blasted off shots as fast as he could, the three others also doing the same. None of their shots appeared to be hitting anything. For one, Ben couldn't see. The combination of darkness and extremely bright light from the blaster fire rendered him momentarily blind. He tried to shoot when and where he saw the enemy illuminated by the flash of blaster bolts. The enemy's fire was accurate, nearly hitting him multiple times. Ben guessed they had night vision in their helmet lenses.

He and his fellow Rebels had no such technology on them at the moment.

The firefight had lasted for less than thirty seconds before Ben could see the futility of the situation. He knew there were more than three Imperial soldiers on the planet and in the village. Like Rogue One, the Imperials also seemed to have split up. Ben had to ensure Rogue One survived this predicament. He had to make sure Erso made it off.

Cassian beat him to it.

"Fall back!"

None of them had to be told twice. Ben remained behind for a second longer as he provided some covering fire before he to retreated.

Just as he was running down the alley, a bolt grazed his shoulder and impacted the duracrete wall next to his face. Besides the searing, burning pain of the wound on his shoulder, his face and unprotected eyes were showered with fragments of sharp stone.

He shouted in pain and nearly fell to the ground, but a strong hand wrapped around his bicep and hauled him along, despite the continuing blaster fire.

It was Silas. "Are you alright?" He asked Ben as they ran side-by-side in the streets, heading towards their ship. They took back alleys and sharp turns in an attempt to confuse the enemy.

Ben wiped his face and blinked the dust out of his eyes. "I'm a little cooked, but I think I will be alright."

Silas nodded silently and the pair ran down another alley.

* * *

DT-3222 didn't know what had happened. One moment he and DT-2987 were advancing down an ally when around the corner comes a Rebel.

Waylon gaped momentarily in shock, both in surprise at seeing an enemy so close, but also because of the Rebel's face in his night vision.

It was _him._

That was all the reprieve he got.

DT-3222's training and conditioning then took over. His mind and body screamed at him to blast the Rebel, to destroy those who stood in the way of the Empire.

He listened and brought his blaster up and fired.

The shot missed, as did the Rebels.

They were soon engaged in a short firefight. He'd taken cover behind the corner of a building, blasting away in the night.

DT-3222 took a bolt in the shoulder, the impact knocked him back a few inches, but his pauldron stopped the bolt from penetrating his armor.

Soon he heard a scream to retreat and the small group of Rebels began to pull back.

 _He_ stayed behind to cover his fellow Rebel soldiers, and then _he_ too was running down the alley.

DT-3222's training and mind took over; his fatherly instincts at seeing his long-lost child overridden by cybernetics. With the Rebel's back turned he took advantage. He shot one final blast. It hit the Rebel but mainly impacted the building behind it.

 _He_ stumbled but was soon grabbed by his comrade and, luckily, they both fled out of his view.

DT-3222 soon ordered a pursuit. He then received word that his small squad was not the only group engaged in firefights with the Rebels in the village.

They set off down another ally.

* * *

Ben and his group soon reached a clearing where he saw the transport Rogue One had taken. It was small but it would fit all of them. He could hear blaster fire coming from the village close behind him and knew the Imperials weren't far away. He could also see other Rogue One members, Imwe, and Malbus running towards the ship as well. Just as he got to the ramp a red bolt impacted the landing strut right beside him. Ben stopped and turned around to look in the direction they had just came from.

"Ben, get on!" Andor yelled.

Ben turned back to Cassian with a solemn look on his face. "I cannot. My orders were not just to rendevous with Rogue One, but to ensure that no trace of you falls into Imperial hands."

"Really?" Jyn asked. "The Empire probably already knows too much."

Ben knew such would be true. But he did not want to take absolutely any chances with Rogue One, even if it was just a couple of pieces of data. Any potential compromise could spell doom for the Rebellion. He had to mop up, and fast.

"Go. I'll divert them and that is final." He then ran back into the darkness, Chuchi, and Silas following close behind.

Andor shook his head in disappointment and closed the ramp. The ship soon lifted off.


	8. Dark Shadows

Chapter 8: Dark Shadows

Ben, Chuchi, and Silas trekked through the dark forests, swatting aside plants and tree branches that got in their way. As they moved away from the ascending ship that carried the members of Rogue One, and the whine of the repulsors, soon the only sound that could be heard was their heavy breathing and the crunch of plant material beneath their feet.

They soon neared the village once more. Reaching the edge of the woodland, Ben silently ordered the other two to come to a halt. They silently scanned the village.

All was quiet, not a person was in sight nor any lights on. It was eerie, to say the least.

Ben hated horror holomovies and the scene before him was something he had seen in such cinema before.

An uneasy thought came into his mind: usually, everyone ends up dying in those flicks.

Ben shook his head and gave a small grin, which went unnoticed by Chuchi or Silas. He would not die tonight. Scream and shout? Yes. But die? Kriffing no.

"Do we infiltrate?" Chuchi whispered quietly; her voice rising above the overwhelming silence.

Ben silently nodded. "We need to split up," he held up his hand to stave off any rebuttal before he finished his thought, "if we do so, we have a better chance of not being taken all at once. We will also lead these Imps to split up as well…. hopefully."

"I dislike your doubtful tone of voice," Silas said.

"He's right," Chuchi told Silas. "It's the best chance we have got."

"Fine," Silas acquiesced.

Looking back at them, Ben gave both one final nod and gave the signal to advance. They each ran through the darkness, into the village, soon splitting up and going their own ways.

As Ben traveled down a dark, unlit, creepy ally, his mind acted up again.

 _This might be the stupidest thing I have ever done._

* * *

Ben traveled for what seemed like seconds before he heard a sound. He took cover against a wall, trying to blend into the surrounding darkness; however, the moonlight clearly defined the outline of his body against the wall.

The sound was coming from just up ahead of him where the alley opened onto a small thoroughfare.

Ben craned his ears to hear better. It sounded like crying. The soft sobs and hitches in the being's breath were unmistakable.

Ben slowly made his way forward, creeping towards the sound. He did not know if this was a trap, and he wanted to be prepared if it was.

He reached the street and peered around the darkened corner of the building into the street. There, sitting against a building across the street from him, was a child. Ben could not tell the gender of the child but the small body was unmistakable.

He glanced around his surroundings once more, ensuring no Death Troopers or other Imperials were in sight, then he began crossing the street. It occurred to him that the enemy may be watching unnoticed by him, but he brushed those thoughts off. He would deal with those consequences when they came, but right now, this child needed help.

As he neared the child, the little one's head rose up and his glance met Ben's. The face of the child, a boy, shimmered with wet tears in the moonlight, his gaze piercing through the dark.

Ben knelt down next to the young boy. "Are you okay?"

"Who are you?" The boy asked as his breath hitched.

Ben stayed silent for a moment. "A friend."

"I got scared of the fighting near my home and ran away," the boy began to tear up again.

"Hey," Ben placed his hand gently on the lad's shoulder, "you are safe now. No one will harm you."

"But what about the bad shadows?" The boy said fearfully.

"Bad shadows?" Ben asked in confusion.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, "the shadows in black."

Ben racked his mind to make a connection to the boy's words. He thought for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise.

The Death Troopers. The boy was describing the Death Troopers.

"I'll protect you from the bad shadows, "Ben said sincerely. He stood up and offered his hand to the child sitting before him. "Come, let's take you home."

The boy stared at his hand for a moment before gently placing his small hand in Ben's palm and stood up.

Together, civilian and soldier, both lost children, walked quietly down the street.

* * *

DT-3222 stalked through the silent streets. He was in constant contact with his squad through their internal comms. He ordered that they disable their external comm units to conceal their positions to potential enemies.

Unit 777 had observed the flight of Rogue One in the Rebel transport ship but knew that the three other Rebels were still at large, having observed the other three refrain from boarding the ship.

He had split his troops up with the hope of eliminating these three threats.

He was still very much shaken that his potential missing offspring was one of those he was now hunting.

He gripped his blaster rifle tighter and took deep breaths as he prowled a dark ally. He could not see anything hostile—utilizing both night vision and thermal imaging on his helmet's HUD—and after checking in once more with his fellow squad mates, none of them had found anything suspicious or dangerous either.

That is when he heard the noise: crying.

It was soft, very soft, but his cybernetic enhancements allowed him to hear the quiet intakes of breath as clear as day.

He stalked closer and closer to the sound when a second sound joined the fray. It was a voice, someone was talking softly. His artificially enhanced hearing once again aided him as he focused on the unknown voice. His eyes grew wide and his teeth clenched as the soft, yet unmistakable tone of his youngest son, Benjamin, reached his ears.

His eyes began to gloss over. It had been so long since he had heard that voice, one that he thought he would never hear again.

He suddenly closed his eyes and shook his helmeted head slightly. He had a mission to complete, eliminate the Rebel threat and stop Rogue One from stealing the Death Star plans.

He focused himself once more and silently made his way down the ally and gazed out into the street. His night vision revealed both figures, the small child and the soldier—his long-lost son—were walking down the street away from him.

Reassuring himself of his mission, DT-3222 walked out of the alley, across the street, and into, yet another, adjacent ally. He would take an alternate route to intercept these two.

Confrontation, despite his misgivings, was now inevitable.

* * *

Ben thought he heard footsteps crunch on the soft, dirt roadway behind them as the boy led him to his abode.

Benjamin quickly turned around to peer into the darkness behind him. His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, but he could not see anything out of the ordinary. It seemed they were alone on this dark, desolate, creepy street.

They soon turned off the street and took a narrow passage between two buildings. As they walked, flanked on both sides by durasteel walls, Ben could not help but feel on edge. They were in an extremely vulnerable position; there were only two ways out, and they could be fired on from above.

As they strode deeper into the darkened alley, Ben felt a pit of dread come over him. He knew this was a bad situation.

Then he heard footsteps coming from an intersecting passage up ahead. Not wanting to take any chances, Ben quickly grabbed the lad, quickly placing a hand over the young one's mouth to mask the muffled cry of surprise, and yanked him into a nearby doorway, the object quietly sliding open with a hiss before closing.

Ben had no idea what building they were in but he did not care. His right hand—as his left still covered the boy's mouth—gripped the butt of his blaster. Withdrawing his weapon, he pointed it at the door in front of him.

Silence reigned in the pitch dark around them. Only the sound of their frightful and anxious breathing penetrated the air around them.

Soft crunching footsteps greeted their ears, growing ever closer to the door where they had taken refuge.

Ben hoped that they would pass, but steeled himself for violence when said footsteps stopped right outside the door.

The mechanical beast hissed open before Ben could process what had happened.

The child in his arms let out a muffled scream of terror.

Standing in the moonlit doorway was a pauldron-wearing Death Trooper. His blaster rifle pointed squarely at Ben's chest.

* * *

After years of grief, sorrow, anguish, and blaming himself, he was standing a less than a half-meter away from his boy. Through the green night vision of his visor, he could see the unmistakable features of his son's face. He just stood there in silence, body unmoving, but his eyes were dancing around their sockets, moving over every square inch of his son, drinking in the sight he thought he would never see again: his Benjamin alive and breathing.

Ben, to his credit, just stood in silence as well. This situation was becoming very odd. Death Troopers, and Imperials for that matter, were known to be unforgiving when it came to Rebels, firing first and asking questions later. However, the Death Trooper standing before him just stood there; both of them had blasters pointed squarely at the other, yet neither fired, they just stood there.

Ben felt the young lad in his grasp shaking in fear. He decided to make the most of the unusual situation in an attempt to calm the little one's fright.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at us? Do we have something on our faces?" Ben deadpanned the question, but his tone of voice implicated some mischief and attempt at humor, which was somewhat difficult given the circumstances. He figured that if the Death Trooper were to fire, he might as well make his last moment in the Galaxy worthwhile.

The Death Trooper just stood there, unmoving.

Waylon's eyes went wide behind the helmet. He had just heard his son speak for the first time in over a decade! His eyes misted up and he felt as if he were about to cry. A small grin plastered itself across his face as he recalled the joking edge his son put into his question a few moments ago. Benjamin was the joker in their small family, making humor out of any situation. This was no different. It seemed that despite the years of loneliness, desolation, and grief, Benny, at his core, was still himself. He hadn't changed despite the overwhelming adversity in his life; the thought made Waylon immensely proud.

But he realized, despite his emotions, that he had a duty to perform. Using his blaster rifle he motioned for both Ben and the young boy to extricate themselves from the darkened building and out into the moonlit street.

Ben was a little in shock when the trooper began to motion them out of the building, wondering why the soldier hadn't already blasted them and left their smoldering bodies for the villagers to find come morning.

However, there was just something different about this trooper. He seemed hesitant in his movements, his body language showing signs of shock himself.

It was a conundrum to Ben.

Slowly and cautiously, still pointing his blaster pistol at the Imperial, Ben gently nudged the little boy in the shoulder, urging him to comply with the Death Trooper's order. The armor-clad man stepped aside as the boy, then Ben stepped out into the night. The trooper's grip on his blaster had tightened and the soldier was scanning his environment. Was he looking for reinforcements? Ben wondered.

Waylon quickly scanned his immediate surroundings using both night vision and thermal imaging. He wanted to ensure that Ben's two friends wouldn't make an appearance; however, he also wanted to make sure that none of his troopers would come upon the scene.

"Let the boy go," Ben softly cut through the silence, "it is me you want."

The Death Trooper's visor snapped back to glare at Ben. The trooper stood silently for a moment before he minutely nodded his helmeted head in acquiescence.

Ben nodded in return and stooped down to the boy, whose terrified eyes were fixed on the Death Trooper.

"Run home and don't look back," Ben gave the young lad a firm shake on the shoulders.

The boy nodded then ran off down the street. His feet pattering on the roadbed before he turned a corner and vanished from view.

Ben turned back to stare at his silent enemy. They both stood less than a meter away from each other, in the middle of the street, with weapons drawn and aimed at each other.

Ben smiled grimly. "We have gotten ourselves into quite a situation here. What next? Are your troops going to converge on this location? Should I even bother pulling the trigger seeing we both would end up with blaster holes burned in our bodies?"

Once again, the Death Trooper just stood there, confusing Ben further and further. This wasn't just odd, it was extraordinary.

Waylon once again gave a silent gasp upon hearing his son's voice. His thoughts turned to horror when Ben finished his short monologue. Did Ben really think his own father, even unknown, would gun him down in such a manner? The thought disgusted Waylon.

His cybernetic enhancements and indoctrination training he had received while becoming DT-3222 were warring with his mind. For now, it seemed, his fatherly instincts were prevailing, but he didn't want to see what would happen if or when he lost the battle and his cybernetics took over.

It was a risk he couldn't take.

He suddenly snapped back to the present as he heard a voice crackle over his internal comm unit.

"This is 3161, have any trace of the Rebel scum been found?" The unit's sergeant asked.

The situation had just become all the more dangerous. If his cybernetics didn't take control over his body and potentially harm is newly found son, his squad mates most certainly would.

He made his decision then and there: his son was not going to die this night.

He reactivated his external comm with a simple voice command, staring at Ben as he did so. The young man was glaring at him with suspicion and surprise in his pupils.

Waylon took a deep breath and made his decision. He lowered his blaster.

To say Ben was shocked would be the understatement of the millennium. A stormtrooper lowering his weapon to a well-armed rebel!? This couldn't be reality, Ben thought.

Ben, always an honorable and reciprocal person, lowered his blaster, albeit slowly and with a quaking hand.

Waylon decided, after seeing his son lowering his blaster, to finally speak. "Leave, before the other troopers get here." He was confused upon seeing his son raise an eyebrow.

All Ben had heard was a scrambled mess of sound. The trooper had momentarily forgotten that his external comms were scrambled to prevent the enemy from gaining information.

Ben couldn't help himself and decided to have one last bit of fun. "That is pretty flattering. I've always liked the ones who speak exotic languages."

Waylon's eyebrow rose behind the mask and lips turned upward into a full-fledged smile. He then returned to the urgency of the situation.

"Leave. Go now, before the other troopers arrive."

Now it was Ben's turn to be truly shocked.

Even through the electronic modulation of the voice, he heard the voice of someone he had cast out of his life for good: his father.

The tone and pitch of the voice was unmistakable, even though the helmet. Glancing quickly over the rest of the trooper, Ben quickly confirmed that the trooper stood at the exact height his father had.

He knew that this could simply be a random act of mercy from a random Imperial. Such stories had been widely circulated as an attempt to humanize the conflict, however, the chances of that were extremely small.

Ben was left with a sobering thought reeling through his brain: the last of his family, his father and brother, were both Imperial soldiers.

"Why?" Ben asked in a deathly quiet whisper. His breath hitching as he spoke.

"I won't let it happen again," The Death Trooper, Waylon, spoke. The voice was as soft and quiet as it could be coming through the helmet.

Ben knew the meaning behind those words. His father would not let the terrible event on Odisar befall him again.

Ben was nearly about to speak again when Waylon strode forward, grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly turned him around, giving him a push down the empty street in front of him.

"Go!" His Imperial sire said with a tone of urgency.

Ben, his blaster still clutched in a white-knuckled grip began to run down the street. Suddenly he stopped and turned around to face his black-clad father who still stood facing him.

"This isn't over," Ben said. He had so many questions to ask, so many things he wanted to say.

"Don't seek me out, Benjamin," his father said.

Ben took a deep breath and sighed, staring down his father once more.

"You can't stop me."

He then turned and ran down the street, zig-zagging through the alley's and staying away from open areas.

* * *

Waylon watched his son go with an overwhelming sense of sadness.

He had only just found him, and now he had to let him go.

And not a moment too soon.

Within seconds, the rest of his unit converged on his location.

After giving preliminary reports of their fruitless patrols, Waylon, now DT-3222 once more, decided to end the hunt, for now.

They made their way back to their ship.

Outwardly, the caring father, Waylon Madrik, soon faded and the orderly and cruel DT-3222 took his place.

Inwardly, the raging torrent of emotions and conflicting thoughts had reached a near climax.

* * *

Ben soon found his way out of the village and back to their small ship. He was, apparently, not the only one with such an idea.

He found Chuchi and Silas already waiting for him.

"You're late," the woman said.

"Just chatting," Ben said.

"Right," Silas said with a scoff, thinking Ben fond of hyperbole.

How wrong he was.


	9. What the Future Holds

Chapter 9: What the Future Holds

 _Four days later_

Waylon knew that Krennic would not be pleased with his failure to destroy Rogue One and their plans. They nearly had the group that had stolen the Death Star plans in their grasp, yet they somehow managed to slip through a crack and escape. And, lest he not forget, they had help.

 _Benjamin._

The name lanced through Waylon like ice. He was still very much in shock at seeing his long lost youngest son.

Benjamin and his companions, wearing dark uniforms that Waylon thought looked more like Imperial than Rebel attire, had single-handily compromised their mission.

Unit 777 had no indication that the enemies who stole the Death Star plans knew that Death Troopers had landed on-world. The only way they would've gained such information was if Benjamin tipped them off.

 _Andre was right,_ Waylon thought sadly. He didn't want to believe that his long lost son was fighting for the Rebellion, the enemy, and against his family.

He continued to stare at the stars from the viewport in his quarters. He recalled himself firing on Ben during their initial firefight then their standoff in the alleyway.

He couldn't explain his change in behavior, from wanting to destroy his son to doing anything in his power to see his young boy safe. Never in a million years would he think that he would attempt to maim or kill a family member, let alone his son. Yet when he saw the Rebels, something in his mind changed. It was as if all of his hatred and disgust was suddenly channeled into one dark single thought.

To eliminate those that stand in the way of the Empire. Even if one that stood in the way happened to be his youngest son.

Now, looking back with a clearer, less hateful mind, Waylon was somewhat frightened. Not for himself, but for his youngest son.

How would he react if he saw Benny again? He knew he could never live with himself if he was the one to hurt or even kill his child.

But how was he to go against the extreme conditioning and psychological changes instilled in him by Director Krennic?

He didn't know, yet.

Waylon knew he would forever hold his loyalty to the cause of the Empire. But he would not see his Rebel son killed.

Detail 3 finally came out of hyperspace at the Rebel Fleet. To their immense relief, the Fleet had not left the sector.

They landed onboard _Home One_ and disembarked. Almost as soon as the ramp opened, both Cassian and Ben received notifications on their comm devices.

Mothma was instructing Detail 3 to wait in her office until she was finished with an urgent meeting. Andor told Ben that he and the other members of Rogue One were being summoned for an emergency meeting.

Ben had a very good idea who would be leading Rogue One's emergency meeting: Mothma.

Detail 3 and Rogue One had a brief goodbye session at the base of the transport ramp.

Cassian stopped Ben with a hand on his shoulder. "Ben, be careful out there," Cassian said with sincerity.

"You too, Cassian," Ben replied. The two shared a very firm handshake.

"We have to get moving," Erso said, breaking their moment.

Ben squeezed Chirrut's hand once more than released as the man and the rest of Rogue One walked away. Some of them, like Bodhi Rook and even Jyn Erso, gave him nods of thanks as they passed by him and his two companions.

Detail 3 then headed to Mothma's office and waited.

As they waited in Mon Mothma's office, Ben finally began to check over his equipment to make sure he still had it all.

He began checking with his belt, finding his blaster, blaster packs, and thermal detonator all there. He then moved his hand up to check the sling that attached to his belt and wound around his left shoulder. He had a knife attached to the sling and found the blade securely in its sheath. He then checked his inner-coat pocket, looking for his small switchblade.

He panicked when he couldn't find it initially. It was a gift from his parents, a prized possession. He checked his other pockets and finally found it.

Sadness overtook him.

 _His parents._ The thoughts of his family, intensified after the encounters with both his brother and father, were changing. Whereas he had felt betrayal and anger at the sight of Andre on Jedha, after the encounter with Waylon, his thoughts had begun to shift to anxiousness, worry, and longing. His father had seemingly disobeyed his orders to prevent harm from befalling him. He sat up at night wondering when and if he would see them again. He wanted to, more than anything, but he knew any future encounters would most likely involve raised blasters and hostile action.

A day after the mission, he had accepted the fact that it would be a long while, if ever before he saw either his brother or father again; however, that didn't stop him from wanting to know more about them.

Using the resources and information at his disposal, he had begun to stay up many nights, often into the early morning, researching and finding what little scraps he could about his family.

* * *

After an hour of spent in deep thought, Mothma finally strolled in. Ben, Silas, and Chuchi stood at attention.

She waved her hand as she walked over to her desk. "At ease." They relaxed their stances.

She sat down and took note of them.

"You all have done an excellent job. You not only ensured that the Death Star plans got off-world and back to the fleet safely, you did so without incurring any casualties. Congratulations."

"Thank you, ma'am," all three of them said simultaneously.

Mon Mothma only smiled.

"With the operation to steal the Death Star plans progressing, your next mission will be one of a more sensitive nature. One of our top commanders in the fleet, Colonel Mawri Rangor, has evidence against him that he ordered the murder of twelve villagers when liberating a village from the Empire on the planet of Plexis. He then ruthlessly hunted down any potential witnesses and terminated them," Mothma said in a serious tone.

"Ma'am, how do you know all of this?" Chuchi asked.

Mothma turned to face the woman.

"Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan. You will need to talk to her."

"Where is she?" Silas asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Alderaan?" Ben answered quickly.

Mothma shook her head. "No, she is here with the Fleet preparing to depart on a diplomatic mission of sorts."

* * *

A short while later, four individuals sat in a large room with silence filling the air.

Princess Leia Organa sat on one side of the large durasteel table, and on the other side was Detail 3. Ben was sitting directly across from the Princess; Chuchi sat directly to his right, and Silas stood to his left.

They had entered the room over ten minutes ago, and they tried to get the Princess to talk, but Leia Organa, usually a firebrand, was unusually quiet.

"Princess," Ben said as he leaned forward, "once again, how do you know Colonel Mawri Rangor?"

"I cannot say," Leia replied.

Ben thought he could see an internal conflict in those brown eyes of the Princess. "And why not?"

"Because," Leia said simply.

Ben huffed and rolled his eyes. The Princess was acting all too much like the nineteen-year-old she was; however, he could understand. After all, he was around the same age she was. He sighed and went out on a limb. "Are you afraid if you say something that you or one of your family members may get hurt?"

Leia's brown eyes widened momentarily before her mask of cool and composed emotion slid over her face.

Ben knew he had hit the money. "Is Rangor a friend of the Organa's?"

Leia's eyes grew wider. She then sighed and her eyes fell. "No, he could never be a friend of my father's; he's too much of a sleemo."

"Is Colonel Rangor from Alderaan?" Silas asked from his standing position.

Leia shook her head vehemently. "No, but my father has… some interests with him."

"What kind of interests?" Ben asked Leia.

Ben knew that Rangor was a fairly well-off businessman during the Republic and even after the formation of the Empire. Word had it that the colonel still did many back room and under-the-table deals with less than stellar organizations.

" During the Clone Wars, my father accepted Rangor's assistance to install highly advanced weapon systems on Alderaan the deter any Separatist threats."

"What kind of assistance are we talking about? Physical or economic?" Chuchi asked from beside Ben.

"Both, Rangor sent teams of hired workers to construct the defenses, but he also paid for those systems out of his own pocket."

"Why would he do that?" Ben asked in confusion. Surely the good colonel would've asked that the House of Organa pay him back.

"He expected my father to owe him a favor in the future," Organa said.

Ben nodded in both confirmation and satisfaction. Their next mission was going to have high stakes, extremely high stakes. They had to do their utmost to ensure that everything went smoothly.

Ben stood up and smiled at Leia. "Thank you for the insight, Princess."

Leia stood up and gazed at all three of them. "The honor is all mine."

Ben, Silas, and Chuchi turned around and walked to the door, which promptly opened.

"Wait, I have one last question before I go," Leia said as she moved from around the table.

Ben stilled in the doorway and turned around. "What is it, Princess Organa?"

"What did he do, Colonel Rangor?"

"He slaughtered innocent villagers like it was a game," Ben told her bluntly.

Leia gave a silent gasp and her eyes hardened in anger.

"Go get him, Captain."

"Ben tipped his peaked hat. "With pleasure, Princess Organa," he then exited the room.

Once outside, all three began to walk down the hall back to Mothma's office.

"Do you think it was wise to let her in on our mission?" Silas asked concernedly.

Ben looked at the man. "I believe Princess Leia to be one of the more trustworthy members of the Rebel Alliance."

"Officially? You mean unofficially," Chuchi said with a small laugh.

Ben smiled. "Of course, Chuchi. We have to maintain the continued nonpartisan nature of Alderaan and its politicians."

* * *

 _The Death Star_

When Krennic learned of the failure of Dathomir, he was furious. Unit 777 had got the worst of it, especially their commander, DT-3222.

As they stood in Krennic's temporary office aboard the Death Star, their helmets removed, all of them staring down at their leader dressed in his white uniform, they were stone faced. They had to be. They were the toughest soldiers the Empire had to offer, if they couldn't withstand being screamed at, they shouldn't call themselves Death Troopers.

As Krennic berated Unit 777, Waylon was lost in thought. Even though he should've been listening to his leader, being the commander of the unit, his thoughts lay on matters of a more personal nature.

His son was a soldier in the Rebellion. The very organization that he'd vowed to destroy countless times before. Even after he told himself he would not let Ben die, part of his mind screamed in displeasure.

Just as the galaxy was embroiled in civil war, so was the mind of Waylon Madrik.

He snapped back just as Krennic was finishing his tirade.

"This unit, because of its disgusting performance, will no longer be placed on assignments for the foreseeable future! Your roles from now on will be as bodyguards of members of the Tarkin Initiative, nothing more! Get out," Krennic spat in anger.

They snapped to attention and saluted, placing their helmets on as they left. None of them spoke as they went back to their private barracks. Krennic's decision was a blow for every one of them. They had become Death Troopers for the frontline missions, and now they were relegated to bodyguard duties, which were usually assigned to the regular Stormtrooper Corps. If Krennic had intended to insult and humiliate them, he had done a very good job of it.

* * *

Detail 3 had all returned to Mothma's office to await her final briefing.

"Welcome back, I hope your meeting with the Princess was insightful," Mothma said as she sat behind her desk.

"Very much so, ma'am," Chuchi replied respectfully.

"I have received news since you last were here. Rangor is with the Fleet, he is on the _Harbinger_. You will deal with him there."

"Yes, ma'am," Ben bowed his head slightly. "Do we know if his soldiers are loyal to him?"

Mothma nodded. "I know that a number are but, for the most part, many soldiers under his command have asked for transfers or filed formal complaints."

"Where do those complaints go?" Silas asked, wondering why the colonel had not been at least disciplined for his actions.

"Complaints against commanders go to the High Council. However, many members of the council are reluctant to discipline or charge Rangor for two reasons: supposed lack of evidence and because the Colonel has led us to victory many times before."

Ben nodded. "Shall we take him alive?"

"You will do what you must," Mothma nodded. "Try not to get caught."

Ben took the parting message as intended and made for the door, as did Silas and Chuchi.

* * *

The _Harbinger_ was an Imperial-II class Star Destroyer that the Alliance had hijacked and gained control over.

Detail 3 took a small shuttle ride over to the ship and exited in one of the destroyer's hanger bays. The hanger was nearly filled to capacity with X-wings and Y-wings. Rebel pilots swarmed over the area as they maintained their fighters. The three of them soon walked out of the hanger and towards the turbo lifts.

Mothma had provided them with the barracks and quarters that Rangor, his troopers, and his officers were currently staying in. From what they saw, the set up was a bit weird. Rangor had given himself the most spacious quarters, obviously, but he then assigned the neighboring, smaller, quarters to a motley assortment of soldiers, that ranged in rank from private to major. Whereas the normal arrangement was that the officers stayed in quarters while the enlisted men stayed in the barracks, Rangor had seemingly upset tradition.

That was until Chuchi proposed an idea that they all agreed with: Rangor had put the men he trusted most, his most loyal soldiers, in the quarters around him, regardless of rank, while relegating the 'disloyal' soldiers to the barracks.

If that was true, which seemed likely, they were going to have their hands full.

The turbo lift reached their assigned floor and the doors opened to reveal an empty and silent hallway. They'd come late at night—if such a thing existed in the middle of space—hoping that most of the men would be asleep. While the Alliance fighter squadrons appeared extremely active, as they had seen in the hanger, Rangor's men appeared to be just the opposite.

They stepped out into the hallway and looked both left and right. Nothing. This hallway appeared all but void of life except for the three of them.

They began walking quietly down the hall, nearing the location of Rangor's quarters.

They passed the first of the common barracks for Rangor's enlisted soldiers. The durasteel door was closed tightly. They then passed the somewhat larger, but still closed, doors of quarters belonging to Rangor's loyal soldiers.

Then they stopped at a door which was positioned in the middle of a line of barracks and quarters. The door was larger than all the rest, signifying the largest quarters in the hall: the quarters of Colonel Rangor.

Ben looked at the keypad and then down. They had obtained all the key codes to all of the doors in the hallway. Ben then looked to Chuchi, who had withdrawn a knife and then to Silas, who was taking a pair of binders out of his dark blue uniform jacket.

He nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and then keyed in the door's code.

The door slid open to reveal a darkened room. Ben and the others quietly stepped inside. The door opening and their movements didn't appear to wake Rangor.

As Ben's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he was quite surprised at what he saw. Rangor wasn't the only person in the room. Lying on two cots at the center of the room were two other individuals. Rangor was apparently so afraid that he slept with two guards in his room: one appeared to be a young man, the other an older woman.

Silas, Ben, and Chuchi walked forward, but their movements screeched to a halt when the door slid and locked shut with an audible click.

Ben saw the young man stir and open his eyes. His eyes promptly widened and his mouth opened as if he were about to scream. The young man lunged for his blaster rifle but was stopped when a knife, thrown by Chuchi, embedded itself in his eye socket.

The very dead soldier slumped off of his cot and hit the floor. The thud woke the other two occupants of the room.

Silas was on the other woman before she could make a movement or sound. He'd wrapped her in a tight sleeper hold and squeezed his arms around her head.

Ben lunged at Rangor and landed on the bed, briefly ended up in the man's blanket covered lap. He punched the Colonel while simultaneously covering the man's mouth with a hand. He eventually put an unused pillow case in the man's mouth and hauled him to his feet.

Chuchi moved to turn on a small light so Ben could put Silas' binders on Rangor.

Rancor's eyes moved about in the faint light. The three people that stood before him were ones he hadn't seen before. His eyes widened further when he saw the body of the young bodyguard with a knife through his eye socket. He then saw Silas with the near-unconscious female guard in his grasp.

As Silas moved to stand, and the disoriented guard along with him, one of the woman's arms managed to escape his grasp and she grabbed a hold of her blaster rifle. Instantly, Silas turned whipped her around, just as she brought the blaster up to his chest, and pistol-whipped her in the temple. The blow did the job. The butt of the blaster had shattered her skull and killed her. Her lifeless body fell towards the hard floor, but Silas caught her, and the rifle before they could make a sound.

Ben put Rangor in binders and prepared to march him out of the room. As they neared the door, it opened on its own volition.

The figure of Leia Organa took up the doorway. Her brown eyes displayed a hatred that Ben didn't think she was capable of. Suddenly, the Princess raised her right arm, revealing a small blaster held within the petite hand, and pointed it at Rangor.

The man didn't have time to think before a bolt lanced through his head.

Ben slowly lowered the body to the floor and reviewed the situation.

Three dead rebels, one a well-known colonel, they had to ensure that nothing got out about this.

Ben looked at the three people standing around him and made a decision.

* * *

They had acquired a trash cart, with the help of Leia's negotiations with the onboard maintenance crew, and had crammed into a turbo lift heading to the lower levels.

Ben insisted that Leia go back to the ship; he did not want the Princess accused of anything if word of what they had done got out. But the Princess refused like the young adult she was. And Ben, also like a young adult, sulked on the way down to the lower levels. Chuchi and Silas shared many smiles at their companions' attitudes.

It took awhile, but they eventually made it to the Harbinger's maintenance levels, where the trash incinerators were located.

Pushing the cart long set of halls, Ben couldn't help but look at Leia. The Princess stood behind him, her white, clean Alderaanian robes standing in stark contrast to their dirty and darkened surroundings.

They eventually reached the incinerators, and without any pause, Ben dumped the contents of the cart into the orange flames below.

With their dark deed done, they headed back to the hanger from which they had come.

When they reached the hangar bay, they found it still filled with Rebel fighters and their pilots, and their transport shuttle waited. But there was also a much smaller ship beside the shuttle, one that had not been there when they had arrived.

As they got onboard the shuttle, Organa peeled away without a word and got into the cockpit of the smaller ship. She took off without ceremony and headed back to _Home One_. Ben, Silas, and Chuchi followed her soon after onboard the shuttle.

During the short hop, Ben was trying to think of ways to explain the situation to Mothma. A princess from the House of Organa, one of the largest supporters and suppliers—albeit secret—of the Rebellion had killed a Rebel colonel.

Despite her outward formality, Princess Leia Organa was a force to be reckoned with.

* * *

 _Two weeks later_

There had been talks in the Rebellion about what had occurred to Colonel Rangor, but for the most part, Ben, Chuchi, and Silas had remained unbothered.

Due to Princess Leia's actions, Ben and Mothma had to debrief the Princess on their mission and goals after she demanded to know why a trio of Rebel soldiers were going to assassinate a Rebel colonel.

Now, with Leia firmly in on the loop, she appeared at frequent meetings, and Ben briefed her regularly on the information they got.

At first, Silas and Chuchi were extremely apprehensive about letting Organa into the circle of those who needed to know—only four people; however, after the Princess showed she would protect such sensitive and classified information—especially after a group of political officials assailed her on her knowledge of Colonel Rangor's death unsuccessfully—they grew to trust her.

Now, Ben was summoned to Mothma's office for a personal meeting with the woman.

The door slid open upon his arrival.

"Come in, Benjamin," Mothma said, sitting around the table.

He noticed that Princess Leia was also sitting at the table, and Ben sat down beside her.

"There is something both of you must know," Mothma began, "we are entering the final phase of the plan to steal the Death Star plans. If everything goes right, we should have the plans in our hands within three days."

"Where are these plans being held?" Ben asked, seeing as he was not privy to every detail Rebel Intelligence picked up.

"Scarif," Mothma answered.

"Scarif? As in the Imperial Records Center?" Leia asked as she sat up in her chair.

"Precisely," Mothma nodded her head.

"How are we to penetrate its defenses? Even if we get a team past the protective shield around the ball of rock, the entire body is swarming with an Imperial garrison."

"Well, Benjamin," Mothma gave a small smile, "we take out the shield, insert a small strike team, divert attention away from that team, get the plans, and escape."

"That sounds difficult," Ben raised an eyebrow at his statement.

"It is indeed," Mothma replied.

"Well, what are we to do?" The Princess asked.

"Princess Leia, you are to board the Tantive IV and await a rendezvous with Rogue One. Once in possession of the plans, you are to meet back up with the Rebel fleet."

Mothma then turned to fix her gaze on Ben. "Ben, Rogue One will no doubt need support in their mission. They have, to my knowledge, gathered together a motley assortment of soldiers. However, I fear this strike team will not be enough. I am tasking you with finding the additional manpower to land on the beaches of Scarif."

"It will be done," Ben replied.

"Good, that is all I have." Mothma stood.

Both Ben and Leia rose to their feet, gave courteous head bows and made for the door. Just as the door slid open, Mothma's voice traveled through the room.

"May the Force be with us."

* * *

Andre had been recuperating from his injuries on Jedha for a number of weeks. Now, after many hours of recuperative training, he was ready to get back to work.

As a result of his failure on Jedha, he was sent to command a new platoon of soldiers. Despite his failure, he had received a promotion to lieutenant. Given a new, updated helmet that contained a new built-in rank identifier and a new orange pauldron, he and his platoon were sent to their next assignment.

Scarif.


	10. A New Hope

Chapter 10: A New Hope

Ben and Detail 3 had been making hasty preparations for the assault on Scarif. He had called on many different strike teams and assault groups from both Special Operations and Special Forces.

After the passage of two days, he had managed to collect twenty-five individuals. Now, he, as a captain, had to convince the leaders of these assault teams to cede him overall command of their mission which was not an easy thing to do.

After much talk, debate, and negotiation, Ben was finally able to get every squad and team leader to give him overall command of their assault.

The plan was that they would penetrate the protective shield and land on Scarif after the Rogue One team had begun their assault and Rebel pilots had successfully suppressed TIE fighters in the atmosphere.

For this mission to be a success, Ben had to ensure that pressure was taken off of Rogue One and diverted to them. Then, and only then, could Rogue One advance into the actual record's facility, retrieve the plans, and make it out safely.

In theory that was how it was supposed to work, but Ben had a nagging feeling it would all go so very wrong.

However, Ben did not mention his concerns to anyone, not even Mothma.

Now, as he buttoned his dark blue uniform jacket, ensured his blaster was in his holster and placed his peaked cap on his brown hair, he took deep breaths to calm himself.

This just didn't feel right, but he felt obligated to perform the mission. If he did not, Rogue One may be destroyed, and the hopes of the Rebellion along with it.

After reassuring himself one final time, he made his way down to the hanger. The Rebel Fleet would soon be coming out of hyperspace, following close behind Rogue One, that had successfully managed to evade suspicion and penetrate the defenses around Scarif using a stolen Imperial shuttle.

They were less than five minutes from reverting when Ben got the news from Silas that Director Krennic was on-world performing an inspection. The news sent mixed emotions through Ben. On one hand, anxiousness mixed with happiness at the thought of destroying the Imperial garrison and Krennic along with them; however, those feelings were tempered by fear. If Krennic were on-world, then his personal squadrons of Death Troopers would not be far behind. That meant his father would potentially be on the planet, in danger. He had just rediscovered his father, and he did not want to lose him now.

"Board!" A voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

Ben turned to both Silas and Chuchi, who had boarded beside him. "Good luck," he told the pair. The two returned his gesture.

They reverted out of hyperspace into a chaotic maelstrom of dog fighting X-Wings and TIE fighters. Without hesitation, the two shuttles containing twenty-five additional rebels blasted out of the hanger and towards to beautiful planet below.

* * *

Andre and his battalion were engaged in a hot firefight with some elements of the Rebel strike force that had initially managed to penetrate their defenses. Now, as he knelt in the sand behind an equipment box, his blaster blazing away, the sun glinting off of his visor and white armor, he felt invigorated and reborn.

The injuries he had sustained on Jedha, especially the blow to the head, took him out of action for weeks. He was a naturally restless person, unlike Ben, who was calm regardless of the situation, and he always wanted to be doing something to keep himself busy.

The days of doing nothing but retraining his body were tough, but now that he was back in action, it was well worth it.

He had time to think more about his younger brother and the man he had turned into. It broke Andre's heart seeing the anger and sadness on Ben's face at their first, and last, encounter on Jedha.

Andre was further distressed when he heard from his father that he had encountered him, and even spoke to him, while on a secret mission for Krennic.

He longed to see Benjamin again.

A transport, Rebel Alliance by the markings, flew over his head and pitched around as it descended towards the sandy beaches and turquoise colored water.

"Focus your fire on the shuttle!" Andre instructed his platoon.

The ramp of the shuttle opened and more rebels began pouring out, some falling dead before they even set foot on the beach.

Andre's eyes went wide when he saw a familiar dark uniform, and body shape, sprint off the ship, making towards a large electrical generator for cover. The individual fired his blaster pistol as he ran to his temporary refuge, diving the last meter to prevent being cooked by a blaster bolt.

As the figure dove, his peaked cap fell away from his head revealing his face.

Andre's eyes widened even further and a gasp went through him.

No.

It was Ben.

* * *

Ben ducked behind his temporary cover, daring himself to lift his head to peer over the obstruction, lest his head be blasted off his shoulders.

"Keep up your fire!" He bellowed to his fellow soldiers, many of whom had taken cover behind anything and everything.

They fired into the tree line upon seeing flashes of white armor, or at the stormtroopers and shoretroopers swarming out of the entrance to the facility in front of them.

Soon it seemed that more and more Imperials had converged on their position. For some, the situation was becoming untenable, however, for Ben, it was a sign that pressure was being taken off of Rogue One and diverted to their little assault team.

A bolt screamed over him and buried itself in the chest of a Rebel trooper that Ben didn't recognize.

He looked over and felt relief flood through him as he saw Chuchi and Silas under cover, unharmed, and blazing away.

Ben returned to the task at hand and aimed his blaster at a tan colored shoretrooper and fired. His bolt screamed from the blaster barrel and impacted the soldier in the chest; the man dropped like a stone to the ground.

Then he heard—and felt—an ominous sound: Imperial AT-AT's.

He couldn't yet see the Walkers, as they were obscured by trees, yet the sound and ground vibrations grew louder and rougher at the machines closed in. Suddenly, a huge bolt of red plasma screamed over the trees and impacted the ground less than four meters away from him. The explosion threw him a few meters and covered him in scorched sand, yet for the most part, he remained unharmed.

He had landed out in the open and managed to dodge a few red bolts sent his way, however, his uniform jacket wasn't so lucky, the piece of blue clothing came away singed.

Ben quickly scrambled behind yet another transport crate nearby and continued to fire.

The walkers were growing ever closer, blasting the Rebels in the clearing. Now it was only a matter of time before the walkers would be upon them, blasting them to pieces. If Rebel fighters didn't arrive soon, they would all be toast.

The walkers were now close enough to become visible over the treetops. Their stark gray coloring contrasting against the blue sky green foliage.

"Take cover! For kriff's sake take cover!" Ben bellowed once more upon seeing the two walkers focus their armaments on their position.

Ben ducked down onto the sand, covered his head with his hands and waited for the inevitable. The AT-AT walkers fired into the clearing, throwing sand, trees, and men into the air. A fateful bolt struck their transport shuttle, which caused a huge explosion.

Ben was pelted with the superheated debris of the now destroyed shuttle. He had been waiting for the bolt with his name on it to send him to his maker. But it would seem that today just wasn't his day to die.

The barrage had allowed the Imperial troopers to advance further towards, and around, them. They were slowly being pinched and outflanked.

Enemy fire was now coming from their front and to their right. Their position was quickly becoming untenable. They had nowhere to go. To their backs was open water, its calm, turquoise water displaying a mocking calm in contrast to the battle occurring on the sand.

Ben felt panic, a thing he had rarely felt throughout his life, begin to set in. They were trapped with nowhere to go.

He looked around his remaining soldiers, those that weren't dead or wounded. Out of the original twenty-five, around ten remained. Looking around further, Ben noticed that Chuchi and Silas had survived the most recent bombardment.

Despite his previous luck, it looked like his streak was coming to an end.

* * *

Andre was still managing to squeeze off a few shots despite his quaking hands and sweaty brow behind his helmet. He was still very shaken from witnessing Ben being thrown into the air after the AT-AT's had fired on the Rebel positions. He was sure that Ben was dead and internally began to grieve his death. His eyes teared up, the liquid spilling over his cheek, and small sobs racking his frame.

This wasn't how an honorable Imperial Stormtrooper should act, but he didn't care. He had seemingly just seen the death of one of the last members of his small family. This time for good.

Then, to his amazement, he saw Ben begin to stir before his younger sibling rushed behind another crate—one of many scattered around the landing site.

The AT-AT walkers were continuing to blast the rebels, including his brother, with more and more falling dead or injured.

To Andre, it was only a matter of time before Ben and the others either surrendered or were killed.

Suddenly, just as they appeared to be on the cusp of victory, the AT-AT's seemingly blew up on their own accord.

Andre and his other troopers were in a state of shock for a moment, wondering just what had destroyed the precious walkers. They got their answer when Rebel X-Wing fighters flew over the scene in a V formation.

* * *

Ben and his soldiers cheered as the fighters flew over the charred and burning wreckage of the AT-AT's. It was a welcome sign that reinvigorated him and his fellow soldiers. They began their fight anew, and despite their small numbers, they began to advance slowly once more, pushing the Imperials further and further back under a withering fire.

However, despite their small amount of progress, they advance soon stalled. They were once more bogged down, a stalemate. Neither side made any movement for many minutes, both maintaining their positions as they blasted away or used grenades.

The small group of Rebels then got a welcome relief. Some additional Rebel troops, ferried down after the disablement of Scarif's protective shield, landed in an adjacent clearing.

Ben, through his earwig, heard the communications of the Rebel pilots and commanders in the skies above. They were vital, for he needed to know if any fresh Imperial troops were landing or Rebel forces ordered to retreat.

For now, all he heard was welcome news: "Rebel reinforcements inbound!" a pilot shouted over his comm.

With reinforcements, Ben and his remaining soldiers could finally make the push to get off the beach.

They pushed on, advancing through a wall of red plasma, slowly gaining ground. Soon, the Rebels were nearing an entrance to the facility.

As Ben slowly trudged over the dense sand and past lifeless corpses, his earwig blew into a flurry of activity.

"We are receiving a transmission!"

"There's too many of them I'm goi-arggh!"

"The Death Star is nearly within range! I repeat, the Death Star is nearly within range!"

The last statement made over his earwig gave Ben pause. Despite the heat, sun, and dark uniform, Ben hadn't even sweat, until now. Hearing that the Death Star was in range sent terror shooting through Ben.

If the Death Star was within range, it either had two potential targets: The Rebel Fleet or Scarif.

Ben knew that Rogue One was still on the world and that meant the plans were as well. If the Empire wanted to protect its best-kept secret, then Rogue One would need to be destroyed, even if it meant destroying the planet along with it.

Cold dread seeped into his body. He had to get off this rock and soon.

But they were still under fire.

He once again brought his pistol to bear and blasted to his front, thick with smoke, hoping to hit or suppress any enemy combatants.

He stood up to full height and took a deep breath. What he was about to do was incredibly stupid.

"Ben, what are you doing!?" Chuchi screamed over the sound of battle.

"Surviving!" Ben said as he took off in a sprint, disappearing into the smoke.

Chuchi gave a grumble, then stood up and ran after her superior. Silas followed close behind.

* * *

Andre was in the thick of the action. The bolts flew all around his white-armored body.

"They're moving forward! We need more men!" He heard a fellow trooper shout.

"Push them back!" Another shouted.

The acrid smoke blanketed his sight, leaving Andre no choice but to switch to thermal imaging to get a sense of the battlefield.

He saw numerous heat signatures coming through the smoke and blasted them. The figures fell and the heat from their bodies began to decrease.

Suddenly Andre picked up movement from his immediate right. He knew that no Imperials were positioned over there.

He whipped around to face the enemy but was too late. He stared at the blaster barrel, and the rebel grinning madly behind it, for a millisecond before the inevitable blast came.

Searing heat and pain rocketed through his body. As he fell to the ground, he smelt the burning of his electronic equipment and bodysuit. His back hit the ground hard and his hands impulsively let go of his blaster rifle. His gloved hands then went to clutching to the charred, smoking white armor, and deep injury below. He gasped in pain, shaking breaths rocketing through his body. He stared up at the trees of Scarif, and the beautiful blue sky above, his thermal imaging switching itself off due to sensor damage sustained in the blast.

What a fitting place to die. Surrounded by beauty. He had always loved the trees.

His eyes behind his helmeted visor picked up the rebel who had shot him. The deranged-looking man stood over him, a smile plastered over his grimy features, and raised his aimed his blaster at Andre's helmet.

The man below closed his eyes and apologized to his father.

And to his brother.

Apologized for the moments he would miss in their lives.

* * *

Ben ran through the smoke, his blaster clutched in hand.

Just as he came out of the haze, he came upon a rebel soldier preparing to execute an injured stormtrooper lying in the sand.

Ben wasted no time.

He had survived crimes and suffering most people would think of as unimaginable. He had killed criminals, no matter who their affiliation.

This man, despite being a fellow Alliance soldier, was a criminal.

Ben ran up to the man and stopped in his field of vision. The man looked over at him, smiled then prepared to return to his dark duty.

He never got the chance to pull the trigger. A blaster bolt was sent in-between his eyes, and he slumped lifelessly to the ground.

"Ben!? You just killed a fellow soldier!" Silas said after witnessing the scene.

Ben walked over to the injured trooper and the dead Rebel soldier, crouching down to assess the former's injuries.

Ben quickly turned his attention to Silas and gave the man a serious look. "Hell, Silas, he wasn't a Rebel, he was a criminal. Death was the least I could do for him."

He then returned his attentions to the Imperial stormtrooper—an officer, based on the orange pauldron.

The man's gloved hands, which were gripping his charred wound, shot out to grip Ben by the shoulders, startling him.

It also startled Silas and Chuchi to the point they aimed their blasters at the incapacitated Imperial.

"Ben," a strained, muffled voice came from the soldier's external comm.

Ben froze. That voice sounded so familiar.

Ben himself reached down to grip the man on his shoulder plates, "Andre?"

As if in silent reply, the gloved hands squeezed Ben's shoulders.

Ben sighed in silent happiness. He then moved his hands down from Andre's shoulder plates placed one on his chest, winding the other around his upper back.

"This is going to hurt," Ben said.

He didn't give Andre a moment to reply and instead hefted both of them to their feet.

Andre instantly sagged against Ben, letting out a strangled cry of pain at the rough treatment, and Ben had to wind an arm around his older brother's waist—over his ammo belt—to keep him from falling to the ground.

"What is this? What are you doing?" The shocked voice of Chuchi carried through the small area despite the sounds of the still raging battle.

Ben turned to look at both her and Silas. They both wore a look of heavy shock on their faces.

"He's my brother," was all that Ben supplied. He then took an experimental step forward with his new charge. It was clumsy at first, but soon he and Andre were moving in slow, shaking steps.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Silas yelled from behind them.

"We're leaving the planet," Ben said.

"With an Imperial?" Chuchi added, still in shock.

"Well, do you want to get blown into space dust?" Ben said.

"Wh-What are you talk—talking about, B-Be-Ben?" The shaking, electronic voice of Andre filtered through his helmet.

Ben turned to look at the two black, lifeless visors facing at him. "The Death Star is closing the distance to Scarif. That means one thing—"

"That Scarif will become the space weapon's most recent test," Silas said grimly.

Ben nodded in silent affirmation.

"We—we have to leave," Chuchi said, getting her wits about her.

"Now," Ben said with urgency.

"There—there is an undamaged shuttle on a landing pad less than a kilometer away from this location," Andre supplied in a strangled breath.

All three Rebels nodded and made their way to shuttle with Andre giving them instructions.

They tried to run, with the Death Star coming within firing range any minute; however, Andre's severe chest injury made running impossible for the man. He suggested, more than once, that Ben leave him behind and save himself. Needless to say, Ben did not want to hear it.

By the time the shuttle came into view, panic was once again setting in, and Chuchi and Silas sprinted to the still undamaged shuttle. They managed to open the ramp with the access codes provided by Andre.

Ben nearly carried his heavily armored brother the rest of the way and onto the ship. The ramp closed just behind them as Chuchi and Silas took the controls.

The shuttle was not meant for interstellar transport and did not have a bunk or quarters.

Ben improvised, laying Andre down on a rack of seats that lined the wall, and belting his upper chest—despite his pained cries, waits, and legs into the connected rows of seats.

Ben then took a seat beside Andre's helmet. Without any words, the two brothers, separated by war, laced their hands together and let love flow between them.

Back in the cockpit, Chuchi and Silas expertly piloted the craft above the green treetops and into the atmosphere. Down below, fighting still raged.

As they exited the atmosphere, Silas noticed that the protective shield around the planet was inoperable. Looming in their field of view was an ominous sight: the Death Star.

"Quick, we have to get out of here," Chuchi said.

"I know," Silas replied.

The Death Star's main laser was pointed directly at Scarif.

"Where should we go?" Chuchi asked.

"The Rebel Fle—" Silas' words died as he witnessed the entire Rebel Fleet jump into hyperspace.

Now alone, they noticed a bright green laser shoot out of the Death Star and impact the planet below. A seemingly slow, destructive shockwave was soon spreading over the entire planet.

"It's… it's gone," was all Silas managed to say.

"Force help them. We can only hope Rogue One was successful," Chuchi muttered.

She then noticed a swarm of TIE fighters closing in on their location. They needed to leave and fast.

"Get us out of here," Silas said.

Chuchi plugged in coordinates from memory, not knowing which system they were for.

"Punch it," she ordered.

The shuttle plunged into hyperspace, leaving the Imperials, and a destroyed planet, behind.

* * *

In the rear of the shuttle, Ben and Andre continued to bask in comfortable silence, their hands still laced together.

It was Andre who broke the silence.

"Wh…where are we going?"

"In all honesty," Ben said, smiling down at his brother, "I have no idea."

"This should be fun," Andre said.

Ben laughed.


	11. Unknown Future

Chapter 11: Unknown Future

Ben sat in the main bay of the transport in deep thought. It had been nearly a day since they had escaped from Scarif.

Ben did not know if Rogue One—and Cassian—had made it off the planet before it was incinerated by the Death Star. He had every reason to believe that they had not—he hadn't heard any transmissions or reports in Alliance databases made by any member of the Rogue One crew.

The thought made grief stir within him, at the loss of his friend and mentor, but he held on hope that the Death Star plans had reached the Rebel Fleet before Scarif's destruction.

He looked away from the wall that he had been staring at for hours, his eyes peeling downwards to look at the still armored form of his brother.

Andre was still lying prone on the row of seats, his helmet still affixed to his head. Ben had tried multiple times to get his older brother to remove his bucket, and succeeded, once. After Andre had removed his helmet, he immediately began complaining that it was very uncomfortable to lay his head on the bare seat.

He argued that his helmet had protective padding, custom molded to his size, and that it would help him sleep better. Ben was initially skeptical, but he was proved wrong when Andre fell asleep almost instantly after putting the lifeless mask back on his head.

Now, as Ben stared down at the still form of the sleeping stormtrooper below, he finally thought of their present situation. What was he to do with Andre? He had no idea where Chuchi and Silas were headed, and thought the pair did not know themselves. He couldn't take his brother back to the Alliance, lest he become a prisoner for years. Ben couldn't stand the thought of his brother, who wasn't a mass murderer, like many Moffs and Admirals, being locked up and treated like one.

They had to get him somewhere safe, perhaps even back to the Empire, but how?

* * *

Mon Mothma sat in her office at the new Alliance base on Dantooine. She sat deep in thought, her mind a mixture of happiness and sadness.

On one hand, Leia Organa had successfully received the Death Star plans which were now safely in Alliance hands.

On the other hand, the entire crew of Rogue One, so many promising individuals that the Alliance desperately needed, had been wiped out. Andor and Erso, two members that Mothma saw great potential in, were now dead. They had succeeded in their mission of obtaining the Death Star plans but had dealt a major blow to the Rebellion with their deaths.

Mothma had spent many minutes contemplating if the Alliance could afford to lose such talented individuals.

The Alliance no doubt would move forward.

On the back of Mothma's depressing thoughts, an inkling of hope soon spread throughout her. Despite the losses suffered on Scarif, the Alliance had destroyed a major Imperial base, terminated Director Krennic, and now had the plans to the Empire's most fearsome weapon. And even if such a victory came at the price of so many talented souls, the Rebellion was still stocked with people like Princess Leia and Benjamin Madrik.

Mothma, soon after meeting Organa, had her interest renewed in the location and progress of her unknown brother. Mothma had been privy to many conversations concerning the upbringing of Luke and Leia Skywalker, whether told by Bail Organa or even Obi-Wan Kenobi.

She knew that Luke Skywalker was still a teenager, much like his sister, and she didn't know what he had been doing these past nineteen years. She had sent numerous agents to "check-in" on young Luke, but they all reported the same thing: he was a farmer.

Mothma hoped to have Luke Skywalker as an important member of the Rebellion, someday; however, for now, she had to look at the present situation confronting her and refrain from fantasizing about the future.

The most important task was getting in contact with Detail 3 who had been missing since Scarif.

She had reports that Detail 3 and their small assault team had successfully participated in the raid on Scarif, she, however, had no confirmation that they made it off the planet. As a result, she had sent numerous coded messages asking for any member of the group to confirm they had made it out if they had at all.

The loss of Detail 3, and Benjamin Madrik, would leave a major gap not just in the Rebellion, but in her soul as well. Over the months that Mothma had spent interacting with Ben, leading him, guiding him, she had grown close to him. Their relationship had transformed from one of teacher and student to a paternal one. Perhaps it was because Ben had no family or perhaps she saw herself in him. Whatever the reasons, Mothma could not lose Benjamin Madrik. If she did, she did not know if she would ever be the same.

* * *

Waylon Madrik had spent the better part of three standard weeks performing duties he considered beneath his position. After his failure to apprehend the Rebels on Dathomir, Krennic had assigned him, and his squad mates to guarding members of the Tarkin Initiative. Unit 777 was ordered to guard Thlu- Ry. Ry was a key member of the Tarkin Initiative, responsible for the numerous tests that occurred on the Death Star whilst the superweapon was under construction.

Ry was based on Mokka, a planet in the Outer Rim territories, which was covered in lush forests and dotted with lakes. The planet had been home to the Bajari people, a reptilian species that had taken part in many battles against the Sith in previous millennia. However, with the rise of the Galactic Civil War, the planet was swarmed with crime syndicates and cartels. Soon, most of the population had been displaced, fled, or killed. By the time the Empire came to Mokka in 5BBY, the planet was firmly under the control of one vicious group: the Malux Cartel. The Cartel established their new base on the planet, soon after they were thrown off of Odisar by the oppressed population, and quickly thrived on the world.

The Empire hashed out a deal with the Cartel and many other criminal groups on the planet—as they did with many Outer Rim territories. In exchange for a steady stream of slaves, equipment, and ignoring the crimes committed by the gangs on Mokka, the Empire would be allowed to establish a research facility and base to conduct weapons testing and analysis unmolested.

Needless to say, the idea of being stationed on Mokka did not sit well with Waylon Madrik.

* * *

After what seemed like many hours of mindless travel, interrupted by periods of brief napping, the small, stolen Imperial shuttle finally came out of hyperspace.

Chuchi was the first to say something upon seeing what greeted them outside the viewport.

"Where the hell are we?" she turned to Silas.

He looked at her with confusion written across his face, "I assumed when you told me to 'punch it' you knew where you were sending us."

The young woman scoffed at the statement. "We really didn't have time to pick and choose a nice planet to relax on. I just put in some coordinates I remembered and engaged the hyperspace drive."

They both looked out to the objects beyond their viewport: asteroids.

"It appears that you dropped us right into the middle of the Kafrene asteroid belt," Silas said as he checked the computer.

"Ah!" Chuchi said suddenly, "now I remember! The Ring of Kafrene!"

"What is that?" A new voice, Ben's, suddenly joined in from behind them.

Both turned their heads to gaze upon their blue-coated superior.

"I hope I wasn't being too loud, apologies," Chuchi said with a frown.

Ben smiled in return. "Nonsense, I was not asleep and you couldn't wake the stormtrooper if the galaxy ended."

"He's asleep?" Silas asked.

"Yep, knocked out like a broken light."

"Ben," Chuchi said once more, "we need you to tell us everything."

Ben hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of spilling his most personal secrets. After a short silence, he relented. "Well, as I said on Scarif, Andre is my brother. We lived on a planet named Odisar that was-"

"Taken over by a drug cartel," Silas interjected.

"Precisely," Ben added. "My family, including mother, brother, father, and myself, fled from the marauding bands of criminals and fellow, murderous Odisarians. I, through an unfortunate accident, was left behind and slaved away in a mine for many years. My mother died sometime thereafter and my brother wound up coming under the influence of the Empire and became a stormtrooper."

"What about your father," Chuchi asked solemnly.

Ben again stilled before acquiescing. "I believe my father is also an Imperial."

Silas' eyes grew wide but he maintained outward composure. "What does he do? Is he a stormtrooper as well?"

"No, I have reason to believe he works," Ben then remembered Scarif, "or worked for Director Krennic."

Truth be told, Ben had no idea where his father was. He had spent many minutes pondering the fate of his sire, a Death Trooper, who were no doubt deployed with Krennic on Scarif. He could only hope his father wasn't one of the unlucky ones.

"In what capacity?" Chuchi raised an eyebrow.

"A Death Trooper."

Both Silas and Chuchi audibly gasped.

Hoping to change the subject of the conversation away from uncomfortable family stories, Ben repeated his initial question regarding their immediate location.

Chuchi replied with a look of suspicion, "We're in the Kafrene asteroid belt. If I am not mistaken, there is 'a large outpost around here. That would be the best place to drop our AWOL trooper off."

"Is there a place to drop him off?" Ben asked.

"There should be an Imperial outpost on the planet," Chuchi replied.

"Are you suggesting that we should let this stormtrooper go?" Silas raised his eyebrow in suspicion.

"Well, he is my brother," Ben replied.

That is true, Ben. But you have to consider the optics of this situation if word gets out amongst the Alliance. We would be seen as aiding and abetting an Imperial."

"An Imperial?" Ben's voice held an edge of irritation, "he is a brother who has been lost to me for many years."

Silas was quick to reply. "Regardless of his rank, he is an Imperial. He has fought for an organization that has stood opposite of every ideal we fight for."

Ben sighed. "Silas, I understand your feelings, both of you, but I am not about to let one of my only remaining family members be left on an unfamiliar world, wounded. The least we can do, as not just Rebels, but compassionate people would be to leave him in the care of his fellow soldiers."

Chuchi soon brought the ship down on a landing platform after receiving clearance to land. The main city resembled Coruscant with its tall buildings, bright lights, and bustling sky lanes. After landing, all three scanned the area outside of the cockpit looking for any sign of planetary security guards or Imperial troopers.

"Ben?" A hoarse voice came from the transport bay.

Ben cleared his throat and left the cockpit, entering the soldier bay to find a prone Andre, still in his full stormtrooper armor, trying to unfasten the buckles secured around his waist and legs.

"Wait, wait," Ben said as he strode towards his brother, "I'll do it. You run the risk of aggravating and worsening your wounds."

Andre audibly grumbled beneath his mask, the sound coming out as a string of static sounds. Ben couldn't help himself, he laughed. It was almost as if their relationship had never changed despite the ravages of war. Ben knelt down beside Andre and gently undo the buckles holding Andre's waist and legs, the stormtrooper having already managed to undid to buckles around his head.

Ben worked to ease Andre into a sitting position, the man gasping audibly in pain as he moved to sit up, Andre's gloved hand moving to clutch his armored chest.

"Easy," Ben implored his brother.

After regaining his composure, Andre managed to take off his helmet. The bucket came off with a pop, a result of the pressurized bodysuit being unsealed, and for the first-time brother looked upon brother with their own eyes.

Andre's eyes shone in the dim shuttle light as tears threatened to spill at any moment. Ben gave his older brother a wide-toothed smile.

"Ben," Andre said in shaking voice, instantly moving and enveloping his younger brother in a tight embrace. The Rebel returned the hug, squeezing his brother's armored body as if trying to release all the pent-up emotions he had felt in the years since their separation.

After a long moment of comforted silence, both brothers released each other. However, Andre kept his gloves on Ben's shoulders, holding onto the younger Madrik in a tight grip.

"How did you end up in that uniform," Andre asked in as his eyes scanned Ben's dark blue uniform.

"It is a very long story that will have to wait," Ben said.

"Why?" Andre's brows furrowed in confusion, "where are we?"

"Kafrene."

"What are you guys going to do with me?" Andre asked.

"We are going to make sure you get better," Ben said.

"Am I your prisoner?" Andre's voice had worry colored throughout it.

Ben shook his head vehemently. "No, we are planning on releasing you into the care of your fellow soldiers."

* * *

After his discussion with Andre, Ben returned to the cockpit.

"What do you think we should do with our conscious Imperial?" Chuchi asked honestly.

Ben took little time in responding. "We take him to a nearby garrison, drop him off, and get out of here."

"That sounds bold," Silas said, still more than suspicious and wary of the stormtrooper onboard.

"Indeed, it is," Ben replied, "Where is the nearest outpost?"

Chuchi was silent as she quickly reviewed the onboard computer. "Three clicks."

"How do you propose we get to the outpost without arousing suspicion?" Silas asked with an eyebrow raised. "After all, we have an injured Imperial soldier with us."

Ben agreed that the question was a very good, one that they would have to solve if they wanted to remain unmolested.

"Do you know where uniforms, if any, would be stored on a transport like this?" Ben asked his two companions.

"Why do you ask?" Chuchi asked.

"Because we certainly can't be dressed as Rebels."

* * *

They walked amongst the darkened alleys with most people not sparing them a second glance. After much searching onboard the transport shuttle, they had managed to find a container that contained new, unused Imperial uniforms. However, there was a problem. They needed three or four pairs for all of them, but there were only two pairs. It was decided that Andre and Ben would wear the uniforms. Ben and Andre then dressed into the new uniforms, both sporting the rank of captain.

With the two uniforms taken, both Chuchi and Silas turned their dark blue coats inside-out, removed any other military insignia, took off their issued hats, and hoped that the dark sky of the asteroid belt would make them seem like bounty hunters, not uncommon on the world.

Now, as they casually walked through crowds, it seems their worries were assuaged. They had a brief moment of panic when they came across a squad of Imperial stormtroopers, and it seemed that their mission was about to be compromised. However, the four Imperial soldiers merely saluted and moved on.

Ben soon saw a large and dark colored durasteel building which displayed a large Imperial banner draped over the unassuming edifice.

"Here's the outpost," he said, stopping in an alley a short distance away. Andre stood beside him and both Chuchi and Silas close behind them. He turned the Andre, the black-clothed man panting heavily and holding his side, "This is where we must part."

Andre appeared hesitant to move. "But, will I see you again?"

Ben smiled at his brother and moved to kiss Andre on his forehead and wrap his arms around his sibling, only relenting when Andre, who returned the gesture, grunted in pain.

"Sorry," Ben said sheepishly.

Andre then turned to Silas and Chuchi, "Thank you for everything."

Both inclined their head, Chichi giving a small smile.

With one last clap on the shoulder, Andre moved past Ben and began walking, limping, towards the outpost. As he neared the building, he came into view of the two stormtroopers guarding the door. As he did so, he turned back to the alley where Ben, Chuchi, and Silas had been but found it empty. Saddened, he turned around and continued on.

 **HELLO ALL! Sorry for the past month, as I have been extremely busy with life. Hopefully, I will get back to posting regularly once more.**

 **-LittleP**


	12. A New Planet

Chapter 12: A New Planet

"How the heck did you get off of Scarif?" the white clothed Imperial medic asked in curiosity.

Andre sighed as he retold the story, with the major omission of Detail 3, of how he got off Scarif.

"Wow," the man said as he looked at the datapad showing Andre's vital signs, "that is an amazing story. I am sure the captain will be impressed."

"Captain? I thought I was to be transferred back to my company" Andre asked in confusion.

"You are…eventually," the medic responded. "But first, you will need to brief the commanding officer, have a report taken, and, if the situation demands it, debriefed by other Imperial officials."

Andre wasn't sure he liked the sound of that and nodded his head in silent acquiescence.

Waylon had just come back from escorting another "high-level" Imperial scientist to his ship after the man had conducted research at the secretive station for a number of weeks. He had been here over a month and his was already extremely tired and annoyed at his position.

He wanted to be fighting, but instead he had been relegated to performing perpetual bodyguard and patrol duties, tasks which he thought should be performed by standard stormtroopers, not elite death troopers.

In the days and weeks that followed the attack and destruction of Scarif, the true magnitude of their loss became realized.

Imperial Intelligence had lost not only Director Krennic, but the majority of its death troopers as well. Now, there only remained two squads of death troopers in all of the Empire, and Waylon was commanding one that performed menial tasks.

As he returned to his small, cramped quarters, he was greeted by a pulsating blue light on his holoprojector, indicating a message. He removed his helmet and armor, changing into more comfortable black clothes, before sitting down on the bed and listening to the recording. Blue light filled the darkened room as the silhouette of a man appeared.

It was a man from an Imperial outpost on Caldera, a name that Waylon didn't recognize.

His eyes widened however when the man spoke of how his son, Andre, had wandered in, severely injured, and was currently undergoing treatments in a bacta tank.

"When we ran the standard blood diagnostic, your DNA profile automatically came up and matched with our patient's; therefore, I felt a need to contact you as you are the father of this trooper. If you require any further updates, contact me on this comm channel."

The recording then cut out and the room was once again enveloped in darkness.

Waylon had not a care in the galaxy. His son was injured severely and he wanted to be there beside him.

Without hesitation he stood and went into his closet. Finding his black officer's uniform hanging on the rack, he withdrew the article of clothing, along with a transport bag, secured his armor in a safety locker, hooked a pistol and commlink to his belt and headed for the transport bay.

He knew Ry would be displeased at his rapid departure, but the man could shove his attitude up his rear as far as Waylon was concerned.

Within less than an hour he had pierced the atmosphere of Caldera and had jumped to hyperspace.

It was nearly a day later that he arrived at the asteroid where his son was being kept for treatment.

He walked through the darkened streets filled with neon lights and bustling crowds, people seemingly parting ahead of his path, his dark Imperial uniform and imposing stature causing many to, rightly, get out of his path.

His long strides took him to the outpost adorned with a red flag, where the two stormtroopers guarding the door immediately snapped to attention. He paid them no heed and entered wordlessly. He was soon greeted by Doctor Marjoy who then took him to see his son.

His body and mind filled with relief the moment he set eyes upon Andre. His oldest was sitting up in a very comfortable looking bed in the outpost's small medical wing. His son's eyes lit up upon seeing his father.

"Father," Andre said.

Waylon smiled and walked over. The doctor left them alone in the room. We he reached Andre's bedside, he bent down and took the young lad in his arms. They embraced for what seemingly was an eternity.

"I'm so glad you're safe," Waylon whispered into his son's ear.

"I wouldn't be if not for a savior." Andre said in a wistful tone.

Curious, Waylon moved his head to face Andre, looking into the glassy eyes of his son.

"And who would that be?"

"Benjamin."

His visit with Andre had been over a month and a half ago and yet it occupied much his thoughts.

After Andre broke the news to him, he remembered standing stock still for many moments, processing what had been told to him.

He had stayed at the outpost for over four standard days, staying by his son's side. They talked much about the third, wayward, member of their family. The one who kept popping up unexpectedly in their lives.

Waylon had gone back to his duties begrudgingly and Andre returned to active duty two weeks after he had left.

Now, back on this sorrowful world, he kept in regular contact with Andre. He also devoted his time off combing through the various intelligence channels, the one's he had clearance to, searching for any information about Ben.

" _You can't stop me."_

Ben's last words to him replayed over and over again in his head. It was quite funny. He had told Ben to not look for him and now he was the one looking for his son.

Despite his searches he never heard much of anything, which he knew would be the case. Despite the Rebel Alliance being disorganized on many fronts, their intelligence apparatus, at least Ben's part of his, was watertight.

Ben sat in the spacious office for what seemed like the longest time of his life.

Ever since he left his brother he couldn't stop thinking about it.

So much had happened since then. Princess Leia had been caught with the Death Star plans, and, despite their best efforts, interrogated. Secondly, the plans had somehow ended up on Tatooine, in the possession of a family with the surname Lars. The son of the family, Luke was his first name, was an acquaintance of an old hermit named Ben Kenobi.

The name didn't fool Ben for a second. Obi-Wan Kenobi was one of the greatest Jedi in the history of the galaxy. And Luke Lars was a similar situation. It took only a little bit of background research and connecting of the dots for Ben to realize that Luke Lars was indeed the son of Anakin Skywalker and the former Queen Amidala of Naboo.

It still confused Ben how the whole situation played out. Luke, "Ben," and two smugglers they had gotten into contact with had successfully managed to infiltrate the Death Star, rescue Princess Leia, and make it off.

Well almost all of them. Kenobi had been killed in a fight with the infamous Lord Vader.

Now, here on Home One, Ben sat awaiting his next briefing. He had spoken briefly with Princess Leia after she had returned, a looked forward to speaking with Luke Skywalker soon.

His thoughts were interrupted with the opening of the door. Mothma, in her flowing white robes, strode into the room. Ben stood from his seat out of respect.

"Please, Ben, sit."

Ben did as he was told.

"Is anything on your mind?" Mothma asked inquisitively.

"What will become of Luke Skywalker?"

Mothma's face was expressionless for a moment. "So, you know."

"Yes."

She sighed deeply before continuing. "Well, we haven't figured it out yet," Mothma was referring to Rebel High Command. "He has very good piloting skills, and would be a useful asset. He may also have inherited his father's considerable strength in the Force. Any decision made will be up to him."

"Alright," Ben supplied simply.

"Now," Mothma cleared the air, "the reason I called you in was that I have a tricky mission for you."

"Okay, lay it all on me." Ben said with a smile.

"You will go to the planet of Caldera for a special mission," Mothma began to say before Ben interrupted her.

"I apologize, but haven't Special Forces sent a team to Caldera to ascertain Imperial strength and support the insurgency on the planet?"

"Yes," Mothma responded in a light tone, "we have sent Special Forces there, and have linked up with the local rebels; however, I must say this, these local fighters are not loyal to anyone but themselves, and they should be seen as potential threats. Secondly, we are in a race with the Imperials and numerous Cartels to gain influence over these rebels. Whoever gives them the best deal with the most credits will surely win them over."

Ben scratched his chin. "If what you say is true, why are we being sent there? What have the previous Special Forces missions attained?"

"Our previous mission to the planet was more of an observe and report operation rather than a meet and greet," her light touch of humor made Ben smile. "Consequently, we were able to ascertain that these rebel groups are divided into various factions controlled by local strongmen, however, many of these strongmen are underlings themselves, answering to a small group of wealthy merchants. It is these merchants that we need support from the most. I fully realize the potential fruitlessness of the situation but my dissenting voice was voted down in High Command who view this operation of critical importance to taking the fight to the Empire."

"But it isn't," Ben said with a raise eyebrow. "This planet, and these gangs, have nothing to offer us. You can guarantee that once they get their credits or equipment, they will just fly away into the darkness of space. Who in the hell thinks this is a good idea? No offense ma'am but High Command are idiots."

Mothma smiled grimly, "I fully support your view. It is to my understanding that some members of High Command, mainly Dodonna, Reikkan, and General Sallmars believe that these merchants can offer critical information on the Empire and Cartel, both of whom they have been negotiating with. Also," her voice dropped to a whisper, "we have reason to believe that a small number of SpecOps operators were captured by the local rebels and are currently being held there."

"So is that the real reason I am being sent? Rescuing fellow soldiers sounds like much better logic than the crap that Dodonna, Reikkan, and Sallmars are giving out." Ben couldn't hold the contempt from his voice; he viewed all three men as total dunces with an inability to reason or think at all. Sallmars, in his opinion, was the worst officer ever the grace the face of the galaxy. He had had a few arguments with the man over tactical movements and the deployment of his team. He had even managed to get Ben blacklisted from being promoted for a while as he seemingly had friends everywhere in the Rebellion.

"Is that it," Ben said as he took in all the information.

"It is," Mothma said with a smile on her face.

She soon walked him to the door where they exchanged pleasantries and soon parted ways. After having a few weeks of little work to do, Ben was back in the thick of things.

Two days later Ben was readying himself. Chuchi had been assigned investigative duty to look into an Alliance benefactor on Naboo who may have been operating underground sentient trafficking so she would not be joining them on this little excursion of theirs.

He and Silas walked out of their quarters, joined their small group of soldiers, and boarded the shuttle. Soon they were in hyperspace speeding towards Caldera.

A day later they arrived. Their ship sped through the atmosphere towards the surface below. As they descended, Ben gazed out of one of the small windows at the landscape below. It was mainly fields and forests dotted with small villages. As they got nearer to the ground, Ben noticed a fairly large town on the horizon. He guessed it was the region's capital, or was, until the local rebels grew in power. Now, many of the buildings looked decayed and decrepit.

They set down on the outskirts of the town and disembarked discreetly. Ben's orders were to make contact with a local warlord and try to bribe him into forming an alliance with the Rebellion.

As they disembarked, Silas asked him a question. "Do you think it will work?"

"Never," Ben replied. He knew it was true. The Rebellion was stupid in sending him here. He would never get a deal from these criminals.

Now all he hoped for was to get back to the Rebellion in one piece.

This, he thought, may turn into a very eventful trip.

Despite the misgivings, Ben and the rest of the crew slowly made their ways forward into the village. Along with Silas, a team of eight Speical Operations soldiers accompanied them, led by a sergeant. While they were not given orders to engage the rebels on-planet, that would soon be broken.

 _Perhaps_ , Ben thought as he walked, _the Empire would have also sent a delegation here hoping to obtain an agreement with these criminals_.

 _That would be funny._

Andre was excited to say the least. This would be his first major mission since returning to duty following his injury on Scarif. Since his father's visit, and medical release soon after, he had kept in frequent contact with his father, always trying to get himself placed in a command in the same garrison his father was in. It seemed to never work; however, now was different. After many thwarted attempts, he had successfully managed to be assigned near to his father. He, along with a company of stormtroopers under his command, would be sent to Caldera to act as the advance guard on a small Imperial delegation that would be sent a few weeks later. He was informed a day before the mission that the last remaining squad of death troopers would accompany them to the planet.

The same days as the mission to Caldera, Andre and his cadre of stormtroopers found themselves in a hanger aboard the Imperial frigate they were currently aboard. They had been waiting a few minutes in the hanger when the two large doors leading to one of the many hallways and corridors slid open. The sight of five heavily armed death troopers, each standing over 3.2 meters in height and encased in shiny, black armor, greeted their field of sight.

Andre's eyes moved behind his helmet, looking over each trooper. There were three troopers that wore fairly light accoutrements; other than a thick waist belt that held some ammo pouches and a thermal detonator, they didn't carry much else. His eyes then moved to the third death trooper, who, like the other three, wore no pauldron nor an ammo vest; however, this trooper was equipped with a different blaster rifle, an E-11D. His eyes glanced to the fourth trooper. Unlike his previous comrades, this individual wore a black pauldron, indicative of at least a sergeant, and wore a vest on his armored chest that contained additional ammo packs and an additional thermal detonator. Andre also spotted what appeared to be a medical kit affixed to the vest as well. Then, finally, his eyes were fixed on the fifth and final death trooper.

Andre could spot his father's form and physique anywhere, even under layers of armament, armor, and bodysuit. Waylon's broad shoulders, wider than the other troopers, was a genetic trait he did not, unfortunately inherit; although, Ben most certainly had inherited his father's width. His father looked like a one-man army. Armed with an E-11D heavy-blaster rifle equipped with a scope, and carrying a fully loaded ammo vest with copious numbers of ammo packs and thermal detonators, with additional ammo packs clipped to the straps of the ammo vest itself, Waylon was a force to be reckoned with.

Andre had little time for further pondering as the squadron of death troopers approached him. He immediately snapped to attention as his father came to stand in front of him.

"Captain," his father's electronic voice boomed from inside the black helmet.

"Sir," he replied respectfully. As far as he knew, very few individuals of the Imperial Armed Forces knew of their relationship.

"Prepare your company for boarding. We," Waylon said, referring to his squad, "are prepared."

"Aye, sir." Andre said before moving to give orders to his company to perform last minute checks and get ready to board the shuttle.

"Halt your actions!" A shrill voice boomed through the hanger. "I did not give you orders to proceed!"

All eyes turned to see a lanky figure dressed in the black of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps swiftly walking towards them.

Waylon sighed in irritation at the sight of the figure. He had pushed his superiors to allow him and Andre, both captains, to command this small mission; however, Imperial high command had seen fit to place him, and Andre, under the command of a superior officer.

Merric Salstorm, a major, walked towards them with an overly self-confident gait. He was a recent addition to the Imperial military, having only served for less than a year. So, how did he achieve such a high rank? The same question had plagued Waylon for the past day, and he concluded it came down to two things: money and influence.

Salstorm's father was a wealthy galactic merchant who had moved millions of goods under lucrative Imperial contracts. As such, he was not only able to get his son, Merric, into the Stormtrooper Academy, an elite institution, without issue, but to also secure his son a commission as an officer upon his graduation.

Merric, through his father's wide monetary reach, was able to graduate as a lieutenant. After a few more superiors were paid off following his graduation, he had, in one year, risen to the rank of major.

"Stand at attention," Merric said as he neared. Everyone, including Waylon and Andre did so.

"Captain," Salstorm said as he looked upon the pauldron-wearing Andre. "Why are the men not boarded yet?"

"We were in the process of doing so, sir," Andre grit through his helmet.

"Then get a move on!" Merric yelled in an annoyed tone.

Andre obeyed his orders and soon his white-clad troopers were in motion and boarding the shuttle.

The pompous major then turned his attention to Waylon and his contingent of Death Troopers.

"DT-3222," he said referring to Waylon's designation. "I have heard of your squad's reputation in Imperial Intelligence, however, under me, you will obey all my commands. I gave you an order to move, you move."

"Sir," Waylon said slowly, his movement matching his pace of speech.

Soon they were all aboard and on their way to the new, and dangerous, world.


End file.
